


Vipera Morsus

by Jay_Quinox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Harry Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Has a Crush, Harry Saved Snape, Harry is Obsessed, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is a Tease, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minerva McGonagall's Lost Causes Club, Near Death Experience, Not Epilogue Compliant, Severus Snape Angst, Severus Snape Lives, Severus Snape is Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, Severus Snape is Healing, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Quinox/pseuds/Jay_Quinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape struggles with life after his near-death experience. Harry Potter gains an unhealthy obsession. Their lives become inevitably intertwined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poison

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to bring this story over from my FF.net to complete - I originally wrote it in 2012 under my SenSayuri username and it only consisted of one chapter. It has now been tentatively proofread (but doesn't have a beta) and re-posted here. (I apologise for errors I've missed or if my writing here just isn't up to scratch; twenty-year-old me was much less experienced than twenty-four-year-old me.)
> 
> It is set post-war, but is not epilogue compliant. Snape is alive, and while Harry has been allowed back to school to complete his N.E.W.Ts, he succumbs to his obsessive streak and begins seeking Snape out. There isn't much of a plot, it's more of a domestic fic full of emotion/healing/dialogue and such, but there will be a cohesive storyline when I continue developing the story after this first chapter. 
> 
> It'll be around ten to fifteen chapters in length, the wordcount at about 5k - 10k for each. I'll strive to update as soon as I can - the longest you'll have to wait is around a few months between updates. (sorry x_x) 
> 
> Enjoy, fellow Snarry fans!

In the cold light of morning, Harry Potter glared at the cup of tea set upon his coffee table. His green eyes penetrated the innocent porcelain as if the cup was to blame for the inevitably exhausting day ahead.

With a long-suffering sigh, The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, heaved himself from his comfortable position on the living room settee and resigned himself to his fate.

He bent to pick up his luggage and made his way to the front door of Grimmauld Place; setting him on the first leg of his journey back to a castle in the Scottish Highlands he had always considered his first home.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry awaited Harry Potter to welcome him back for his seventh year.

 

* * *

 

"Mr Potter! Is it true that you're running for Minister of Magic?"

"No -"

"Harry Potter, what is your opinion concerning the current political climate in France?"

"What? -"

"I heard you found the cure for Lycanthropy, Mr Potter, is this true?"

"What? No..."

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Can I have your signature?"

"I'm sorr- oh..."

Harry backed away from the over enthusiastic woman urging Harry sign her skin with a pink quill; the top of her shirt undone and her chest pushed forward proudly. She batted her eyelashes at him and he blushed violently, shaking his head at her before turning and all but running from the gang of reporters and adoring fans.

Harry weaved his way through the familiar King's Cross Station, dodging muggles, witches and wizards alike in his mad dash to get away from the crowds.

He had dreaded this day for months, the day where he would have to venture out in public alone for the first time since the end of the war. All of the attention he was getting left a bad taste in his mouth; he'd always had more bad press than good, and now everyone wanted to shake his hand and sing his praise. He understood it, but it didn't stop him from feeling a little betrayed.

When he had first received the letter inviting him back to Hogwarts, he had been more than happy to except; after all, Hogwarts was his home. The war had been hard on everyone, but life moved on. The students who'd been directly affected by the chaos had been given the choice to re-sit their N.E.W.T.S.

Post-war life had eventually gained some semblance of control. Hogwarts was re-built and the remaining Death Eaters were captured. No longer did the wizarding world kneel at the mercy of one dark, tyrannical man; all thanks to one eighteen year old boy.

It was the same eighteen year old boy that fled his fans and took a running-jump at the wall between platforms nine and ten in King's Cross station, forgetting to check for muggle onlookers in his haste. He stumbled onto platform nine and three quarters, catching himself before he fell face-first into the neighbouring wall. Bystanders glanced curiously at him as he straightened himself out and retrieved his luggage bag from the floor where it'd tipped on its side in the rush.

He didn't blame his two best friends for being unable to accompany him on the journey to Hogwarts, but that didn't stop him from sighing when on every street the world seemed to echo his name.

Hermione had gone to look for her parents after the post-war clean up. She'd eventually found them in a remote part of Australia and removed the spell she'd cast on them prior to the war. She'd ended up staying with her parents for the last few weeks of summer and didn't plan to come back until the Wednesday that week.

Ron had chosen to stay at home with his family a bit longer while he and George made plans for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grand re-opening in a few weeks. The Weasleys' still grieved heavily for Fred, and in turn put all of their efforts into re-opening the shop in Fred's honour. Ron had opted to come back tomorrow evening.

Which left Harry to cope with the hordes of undying fanatics and eager reporters alone. He hurried through the crowd of students and parents towards the old steam train he'd grown to love, ignoring the naked admiration and blatant stares he received on the way.

He threw himself onto the train without a backwards glance, ignoring a the wizards and witches who were desperately trying to get his attention. He felt relief spread through his body as he snapped the door on the train shut against the crowd.

But Harry's relief was short lived as he turned to face the corridor. He found himself facing a train-full of bustling students, and the majority were already murmuring his name and reacting to his presence amongst them, eager young faces turning to stare at him expectantly.

Would life for The Boy Who Lived ever be simple?

 

* * *

 

Harry found himself wedged between Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan during the most awkward Sorting Ceremony he'd ever attended. The majority of new students seemed more interested in shaking his hand, getting his signature or asking him if he was immortal, amongst other far-fetched assumptions.

Finnigan snickered madly into his fist while Longbottom patted Harry awkwardly on the back, attempting to comfort him during the whole fiasco. Harry ignored most all questions and requests, burying his head in his arms and blocking out the world.

He felt somewhat relieved when he heard Headmistress McGonagall called order to the Great Hall, and raised his head just in time to see the first years scrambling into a line at the front of the Sorting Hat. He stole a reluctant glance up the Gryffindor table, only to see his noble classmates staring at him as well. Most of them hastily turned away when they saw him look their way, but others continued their gaping.

"You know, Harry, they're not doing it to wind you up.. they love you for what you did," Neville offered, looking sympathetic. Harry mumbled a sardonic "I suppose" into the table top, not bothering to acknowledge his friend properly. He heard him sigh softly and pick up a conversation with Lavender Brown, who sat across from the trio, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

The ceremony ended and the feast began, leaving each house to greet their newest members. Harry couldn't think of anything worse; new eyes to watch his every step and new voices to question his every motive. He speared a boiled potato angrily and thought of ways he could excuse himself to his dormitory.

Before he could even formulate a plan, McGonagall called the hall to be silent. He glanced to the head table curiously, interested despite his mood to see her interrupt everyone mid-feast.

"Students, if I could have your attention for a few minutes, that would be grand," her usually stern tone was softer than usual, carrying through the hall and silencing the curious chatter that had erupted.

She appeared to steal herself before speaking again, pulling in a large breath. "I would like to inform you that we have found a worthy candidate for the Defence against the Dark Arts position."

The sentence drifted serenely through the hall, leaving a silence in its wake before curious murmurs broke loose and McGonagall held her hand up to hush the students once more.

"I expect you to treat him with the respect he deserves. The perils of war dealt us all a cruel hand, but few so severe as what this man has endured to ensure our safety."

Hundreds of heads immediately turned to Harry and he felt himself pale under the scrutiny. He cast his eyes to the Headmistress and she directed a grim, half-smile his way, before gesturing with a wrinkled hand towards the entrance of the hall.

"Severus Snape will be joining us again at Hogwarts," she uttered, as if commenting on the weather, before turning around and settling back into her seat, her gaze downcast.

The hall once again plummeted into silence. This time, the weight of it caused gooseflesh to explode along Harry's exposed forearms.

_What...?_

Harry felt himself grow detached, an inner monologue overriding his mind as the rest of the hall stared towards the entrance to the hall, haunted expressions marring their features.

_Surely not? Snape died... Snape is dead... Snape is… _  
__

It was as if some meddling deity had slowed down time itself. Harry turned, his body seeming to take hours to complete the simple motion. His bright green irises finally fell to where all of other the students gawped.

A tall, thin figure occupied the doorway. His posture was awkward. His long, black hair lankier than ever. His sallow skin paler than usual and his face empty of any emotion but discontent.

Swathed in a long, black cloak, several times too big for his frame, stood Severus Snape.

And suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe.

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn't sleep.

He tossed and turned under crimson sheets and the night air cooled the sweat on his body, sending an uncomfortable chill racing down his spine. He shifted on to his other side, tugging the blankets under his chin and shuffling around agitatedly to get comfortable again, but to no avail.

Huffing out a long-suffering sigh, he dragged a hand back through his messy black hair. Today had been - well, today had been exhausting, to say the least. It seemed Harry's brain was working overtime and he couldn't stop replaying the events of the evening over and over in his mind.

He had felt no amount of joy or relief when he'd first laid eyes on none other than Severus Snape. All his mind could contemplate was barely restrained rage.

Why hadn't anyone told him that the man had survived? Why hadn't _Snape_  told him that he had survived? Why had he been led to believe his hastily administered Essence of Dittany hadn't done its job? Why had he assumed that his honed skills in creating a patronus had failed him, the important message within never reaching its destination?

Last but not least, why did the whole situation bother Harry so much?

He had all but choked on the air around him when the former headmaster had walked slowly past Gryffindor table without even acknowledging his existence. After everything that had transpired between them both. After everything that Harry had seen. After the supposedly _futile_ attempt to save the man's life. Snape hadn't spared him one, measly glance.

The image of Snape, barely standing upright, walking to the head table bounced around his head for the hundredth time that night and he felt a stab of sadness in his chest. Once the rage had dissipated, Harry had been filled with a sickly feeling all evening, a feeling that was a mix of contempt and sadness. How had a man, once so powerful and proud, become the haggard mess Harry had seen sitting down awkwardly at the end of the head table, grimacing in pain and ignoring everyone around him in favour of swirling an untouched goblet of red wine in his hands for the rest of the feast, staring at its contents unseeingly.

Harry turned and thumped his pillow into a more comfortable shape and proceeded to bury his face into it with a deep huff. He was restless but exhausted; never a good combination for a matured insomniac such as himself.

 _The sun will be bloody rising before I get any sleep at this rate.._ Harry thought blearily, his legs twitching in agitation and the sheets seeming all too heavy and stifling to sleep under. Making a rash decision, he ripped the sheets back and sat up suddenly.

A walk. He'd go for a calming walk before sleeping. He snatched his glasses from the bedside cabinet and shoved them on his face, then pulled the Mauraders Map out from under his pillow. He daren't run into a teacher at his hour; Saviour of the Wizarding World or not, he didn't fancy a detention on his first week back.

Harry bent down and reached into his school bag by the bedside and pulled out his invisibility cloak before climbing out of bed. He slipped his trainers on with his grey pyjamas, only bothering to pull a black hoodie on against the chill of the castle. Cloak and map tucked in his pocket securely in case of emergency, Harry tip-toed his way out of the dormitory he had always shared with Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ron and down the long, spiralling stairs to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry beheld the warm, welcoming common room for a fleeting moment before striding past the numerous comfy armchairs and the roaring hearth in the direction of the portrait hole.

When he had clambered out from behind the portrait and promptly ignored the Fat Lady's attempt at protest, he found himself wandering down towards the grand staircase and didn't question it. His feet moved through the corridors knowingly; he didn't need to think about where he was going as by now, he knew the castle off by heart.

By the time he'd reached the entrance hall, he brought himself to a stop to let his mind catch up to his body's motives. The hall was almost eerie in fashion, abandoned and quiet in the dead of night. Candles glistened weakly in their brackets, adding a weary sense to the hour, instead of the usual grand splendour Hogwarts beheld.

Harry's feet began moving again before he'd even decided where he was going. It seemed his subconscious had its own ideas.

He found himself wandering blithely under the archway that led into the dungeons. He found he didn't care anymore and left his body in charge.

Soon enough, Harry found himself standing absentmindedly in the dark, chilly tunnels, just around the corner from Slytherin common room. His body had abandoned its attempt at reading his subconscious and he was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the cold clawing at his face and up his back. A sudden thought struck him and he dug a hand into his pocket and shook out the Marauders Map.

Unfolding the map carefully, Harry placed the tip of his wand to the centre and murmured quietly.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, " a puff of warm air followed the incantation as Harry opened up the map completely and scrutinised it. He spotted himself on the map, standing alone, except for one other presence just to his left…

Harry choked violently on the ice dungeon air for the second time that evening, his widening eyes scanning the fine, script letters over and over.

_Severus Snape._

The map showed a tiny pair of feet pacing in tight, stilted circles in a room next to the corridor Harry currently stood rooted to the spot in. His hands shook (whether from the cold or nerves, he'd never know) the map shivering with them as he tore his eyes away from the pacing and turned bodily to the wall directly to his left.

A blank, grimy stone wall stood inconspicuously in front of him and Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat. He had to get in there. He just wanted to know. He wanted to know how Snape had survived. He wanted Snape to look at him. He wanted Snape to talk to him. He wanted Snape to just _acknowledge his existence._

Glancing back to the map, the pacing stopped and the feet came to an abrupt stop over the other side of the concealed room. Harry shoved the map back in his pocket.

Swallowing against the dryness that had settled in his mouth and throat, he felt his hands tremble as he approached the wall and pressed the palms of his hands to the rough, icy stone.

To his utter dismay and joy, something happened. Harry let out a startled cry as the bricks in the wall began to separate at his touch, much like the entrance to Diagon Alley in the Leaky Cauldron. He stumbled backwards from the transforming wall, his eyes wide and shining with anticipation.

The last shifting brick slotted itself in place and Harry beheld a small archway. In through the archway was an old, oaken door. Just as inconspicuous as every other door in the dungeons, but Harry wasn't fooled; it was what laid _behind_ the heavy, wooden door way that made his skin prickle with goose pimples and his stomach tingle sickeningly. Harry strode up to the door, his steps faltering as he did. He hesitated, eyeing the door with trepidation and licking his dry lips nervously.

 _I've far faced worse than an irate Severus Snape in my life..._ Harry's conscience called out, and he sucked in a brave breath. He'd come this far, after all.

He knocked the door swiftly before he could stop himself and cringed at how the sound echoed dully around the dungeon corridors. Nerves suddenly hit Harry full force, the weight of the situation constricting his lungs and pressing down painfully on his heart. He began to back away from the intimidating door and from the even more intimidating situation he knew he would find himself in beyond.

 _I shouldn't have.. why did I…_ Harry's thought desperately, but his panicked internal monologue was cut short when a quiet, gravelly voice sounded from beyond the aged wood.

"You may enter."

Turning back around, Harry gawped stupidly at the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

He couldn't believe his ears. He'd been allowed entrance. No questions asked.

Harry scrambled for the last drags of his bravery and marched right back up to the door. He sucked in a huge, calming breath, then grasped the handle and pushed the door open. It swung in a wide arc, light spilling from the room and into his front in a warm yellow strip.

Blinking against the sudden light after the blackness of the Slytherin corridors, Harry took a small, hesitant step over the threshold, his bravery still intact. He froze in place at the sight of the back of Snape's head. The man was reclined on a settee at the far right of the room, the back of the furniture facing the doorway.

"Minerva, I see no cause for these pointless journeys you've been insisting on every night. If you are so concerned, have Poppy fire-call. Do not waste your time," came the drawl, and Harry suddenly realised why he'd been allowed entrance so late at night, or even allowed entrance _at all_. He shuffled further into the room, over soft, green carpet and shut the door with a heavy click behind him. He was in it for the long-haul now. No turning back.

"I'm sure she's only worried," he muttered lowly into the room, the illusion broken.

Heavy, strained silence fell across the room in an instant. The atmosphere became tense and suddenly Harry wished he'd never uttered a single word.

Snape whipped his head to the doorway. He was uncharacteristically shocked, the expression marring his brows and leaving his mouth slightly agape. Seeming to catch himself before Harry, he schooled his features and slowly got up from his seat like a rising shadow, his dark, penetrating gaze never leaving Harry's wary, green eyes.

"Potter -"

Harry burst before Snape could even form the second word of his sentence.

"I don't know why I'm here - I just needed to know - I needed to know what happened. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you... I -"

"POTTER!" Snape punctured his rant with a gruff shout, coughing into his fist and Harry had the modesty to look guilty. He sealed his lips against the words that wanted to tumble out in his defence, and Snape regained his composure enough to glare at his student.

He then walked slowly around the settee and came to stand a mere few feet away from Harry, a sort of resignation settling in his sharp eyes. "I knew you'd come, Potter. You never did have the capacity to even consider that you should _mind your own business,_ " the way Snape spoke the words lacked the usual sting, and Harry once again felt a stab of sadness in his chest for the man standing before him.

"I'm sorry -" Snape held a long fingered hand up in protest, silencing Harry once again.

"Stop interrupting me. Be silent and you shall get your answers, Potter," Snape paused, his hateful eyes raking Harry's face, the glare ever present. Harry stared back, agitatedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. He nodded reluctantly, pink tongue peeking out to wet his dry lips again.

"As you can undoubtedly see, I am alive and well and I do not take kindly to sympathy from _anyone_. I live because of your _thoughtful actions,_  so I believe we are, for lack a of better word, even. Do not come to me expecting any sort of reconciliation or apologies; I have risked my own life for you more times than you could ever begin to imagine. Take your _passion_ for saving the world elsewhere, Potter. I do not appreciate heroism and certainly won't be holding the likes of you in any higher appreciation," Snape finished haughtily, looking down his nose at Harry.

The words stung. Of course they did. But they lacked their usual _bite,_ their usual barbed delivery. It gave Harry the confidence to answer back, instead of retreating, or worse, instead of punching Snape in the face.

"Look, I don't know why I tried to save you, but I did. I'd already lost so much in my life...  I didn't want to sit there and watch you slip away without at least _trying_ to keep you alive. I know about everything you've done for me and _I do_ appreciate it, every last bit of it. There isn't anything I could physically do to repay what you've done for me. I'm not asking for anything from you, Snape. I _never_ wanted anything from you. I just want to know what happened."

Snape's flint coloured eyes locked with Harry's green ones throughout the admission, unrelenting and steeled.

They stayed like that, locked in penetrating stares for a time that felt like hours. Harry shuffled on the spot nervously, vowing to ride the awkward moment out. 

Snape was the first one to break the stare, the passion and stubbornness in Harry's eyes coming out tops. Snape heaved a weak sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Very well. Come," Harry watched Snape turn away a little unsteadily, and make his way over to a glass fronted cabinet at the far side of the room. He followed reluctantly, trying to gauge Snape's sudden change in demeanour and lack of stubbornness.

From scathing and angry to reluctant but resolute in a few minutes. This near death experience appeared to have effected the man more than physically.

Harry watched Snape grasp two tumblers from the cabinet, placing them onto the sideboard below and shakily pouring healthy measures of Firewhisky into each. The glass clinked heavily against the tumbler rim as Snape tried to control his shaking hands. Harry felt his heart clench in sympathy, despite the hurtful things Snape had just accused him of. On an outrageous whim, he reached forward and steadied Snape's hand by gripping his wrist, Harry's fingers resting softly on his professor's pulse point. 

He Snape's hand stiffen at his touch, and then a huge tremor reverberated up his arm. He looked up into Snape's face to see the man looking steadily at him, his eyes wider than he had ever seen them. 

Something about the stare unnerved Harry and he let go as if he'd been burnt. Snape tore his gaze away and the shaking seemed to increase tenfold as he gingerly placed the bottle back into the cabinet, the glass clinking against the wood loudly. He shut the cabinet and walked away without picking up the drinks he had just poured. He stiffly walked over to the settee and sat down, facing away from Harry.

 _Well, that went well_... Harry mused, staring at the two amber coloured drinks perched innocently on the sideboard in front of him.

Harry glanced at his Professor then back at the tumblers of Firewhisky and decided to use his initiative. He grasped both glasses and strode over to the prone man, setting them down on the low coffee table in front of him. Harry quickly took an armchair opposite and clasped his hands in his lap, his foot tapping on the plush carpet agitatedly. He glanced at the glazed look that had taken residence in Snape's face and wondered if he'd caused it by being so callous.

"Professor…" Snape's eyes snapped to his face, a glare instantly apparent. Harry was slightly taken back but ploughed on; he wouldn't miss an opportunity like this, Snape was being terribly compliant for _Snape._ For all he knew, the man would be back to his usual petulant self tomorrow.

"How come… How could I get through... you know... the wall outside? Why did it let me in?" Harry saw Snape's knuckles whiten where they were gripped at his knees and the glare intensified.

"That is for _me_ to know, Potter, and for _you_ to keep your nose out of. Stop asking such menial questions and get to the point, I don't have all night," came the snapped retort.

Harry shifted awkwardly in the armchair and nodded jerkily. Snape reached a still shaking hand for the tumbler in front of him and gestured impatiently for Harry to do the same. Harry gratefully picked up his glass, tipping it to his lips and letting the drink burn down his throat, the amber liquid soothing and warming as it hit his stomach.

"Right. I'll get to the point then," Harry murmured, wiping the excess whisky off his lips with the back of his hand. Snape glowered at the act, turning his nose up at a behaviour that he obviously considered piggish.

"Do," Snape answered curtly with an impatient motion of his hand. Harry cast the man a half-hearted glare.

"How did you survive? I didn't think what I'd done would even work... with the venom and all... and the amount of… blood... I don't know how -"

"Your timing was impeccable, for once in your life." Snape started, closing his eyes against the memory. "When you administered the Essence of Dittany and I fell unconscious from blood loss, the potion managed to seal the most of the wound and kept me barely alive until Poppy received your message. I assume she saved me on a whim, or to cast me to the dementors once she'd made the effort to bring me back from the brink. Either way, she seemed to trust you."

Harry stared, considering, re-enacting the scene in his head the best he could. He wanted to push for more details, but considered himself lucky for getting this much out of Snape in the first place. So he took another sip of whisky instead, nodding his head slowly.

"I was in an induced coma until a month ago. In that state my body was pumped of the venom over a long period. Instant withdrawal would have caused my body to go into shock and your _heroic_ efforts would have been put to waste, Potter," Snape's eyes opened, and he met Harry's stare plainly but without the malice that his words seemed to imply.

"Is it… is the venom gone now?" Harry muttered, his eyes never leaving the black-stare that kept him captivated.

"I am to take Essence of Dittany to heal the wound and specially brewed antivenom for the next couple of months. Dittany helps to re-seal my wound and the antivenom will purge my body of the substance that keeps opening it. They will work in union so that I shall have no trace of the venom by Christmas and my neck will be perfectly healed," Snape finished dispassionately, seeming to spit the words at Harry. It was evident he hated sharing his personal affairs.

Harry ran the rim of the tumbler against his bottom lip, considering his Professor and asked something he knew he'd instantly regret.

"If you need any help at all in the meantime, I'm more than willing -"

"I DO NOT require any assistance!" Snape snapped viciously, suddenly thunderous. "Especially from the likes of _you,"_  he added rather childishly, making Harry start.

"But..." Harry protested, placing his glass down on the coffee table.

"NO buts! It's about time you took your leave, Potter!" His flinty eyes transformed as anger caught up with him, their depths condescending and viscous.

Harry snapped at the look, his mouth betraying him as anger swirled in his chest. "You are one ungrateful bastard, Snape!" Harry growled, rising quickly from the arm chair and standing over Snape, fists clenched.

"Get OUT! I do not tolerate attention-seeking, self-righteous Gryffindor brats in my quarters, OUT!" Snape shouted, also rising and towering menacingly over Harry. After that, things got out of control far too quickly for Harry's liking. But his anger told him otherwise; red obscured his vision and blinded him against any sense.

"After everything that's happened, how can you still treat me like this?!" Harry shouted into Snape's face in return, his frustration bubbling viciously in his chest. He stepped smartly to the side when Snape appeared to take a step towards him, avoiding coming chest to chest with the man in the narrow space between the coffee table and chairs. Harry stepped further back again from his Professor as the man took another step forward, but he suddenly stumbled weakly with the gravity of the movement.

Everything appeared to happen is slow motion then.

Snape didn't regain his footing in time before his leg caught of the low coffee table. Then man fell with all of his staggered weight onto the table. The weight of his fall collapsed the table and as it did, Snape's head struck the stone adorning the nearby hearth rather loudly.

Then there was silence. A deafening silence. It rang in his ears as his professor lay still in the ruins of the table.

Harry felt a blinding panic overtake his every nerve. He fell to his knees where Snape lay, barely conscious from the nasty strike to the head. He cupped the man's head gingerly and felt a rush of sympathy and concern course through his veins.

"Snape? Can you hear me? Professor..?" Harry stammered, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the man's temple in a soothing motion. An idea struck Harry and he quickly cast a patronus charm, relaying it with a message and sending it straight to Madam Pomfrey. The stag cantered straight through the wall, leaving a glittering silvery residue in its wake.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean…" Harry trailed off and brushed the man's lank hair away from his face, his heart getting heavier with guilt by the minute. Deciding he should try to move the man, he stepped closer and hooked one arm under Snape's shoulder and another under his thighs, supporting him bridal style and lifting him, but not without difficulty. Snape mumbled something incoherently and Harry's arms shook with the weight of lifting the man to the settee behind them.

By the time Harry had positioned Snape on the settee and had grasped his hand tightly, angry, guilt-ridden tears welling reluctantly under his eyelids, Pomfrey had burst into the room, clad in a nightgown and slippers.

"Harry... how!?-"

"He just fell, I don't know!" Harry exclaimed as Pomfrey bustled over and knelt beside Snape to examine him. She began to run her wand over various parts of his body, muttering something that sounded distinctly Latin. She paused and gave Harry a weary look.

"You may leave now, Harry. I don't know how you always get caught up in these situations, even after everything, but I can deal with Professor Snape. Off to bed with you!" Pomfrey exclaimed, giving Harry a pointed look. Harry went to protest but stopped himself when the woman rose sceptical a brow at him and began her examination once again, turning away from him completely.

Harry sighed and reluctantly let his Professor's hand slip from his grasp. He rose slowly and began to make his way to the door, feeling awkward and chastised. He stopped and turned back a few steps away from the door when Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. She looked up at him and wearily shook her head.

"You were never here. Now keep yourself from any more trouble!" she exclaimed, a soft look crossing her features. Harry inclined his head morosely and pulled the heavy door open in front of him.

He allowed himself one last glance back at the settee before he crossed the threshold. Snape had begun to regain consciousness and question his whereabouts and Pomfrey was soothing him with murmured things Harry couldn't hear at this distance. He shook his head at his own stupidity.

He let the door swing back on itself as he left Snape's room. As it did, he mentally vowed to help Snape throughout the next two months.

He owed the man more than his life.

And Harry wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

 

* * *

 

**TBC**

 

 


	2. Persistence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people who left kudos and bookmarked - you encouraged me to get this chapter finished! I was unsure how well this would be received, so I'm glad people liked it :)
> 
> Onto chapter two - this chapter has been proofread but not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

* * *

 

Monday dawned grey and windy, much to the chagrin of the students who had hoped for a late summer. The weather was reflected on the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, thick clouds churning menacingly above their heads.

Harry looked down into his bowl of porridge, mashing it violently with his spoon and glaring at it with enough force to repel a Dementor.

Sighing loudly, he silently vowed to stop taking his foul moods out on inanimate objects, and chanced a glance up to the head table. McGonagall was busy shuffling through a high stack of parchment, her glasses perched precariously on her nose whilst she bit into a piece of toast with her spare hand. Flitwick gazed intently over her shoulder from his chair, gesticulating wildly and offering what appeared to be murmured words of wisdom.

Next to them Slughorn was busy devouring a plate of stacked pancakes, appearing in a dreamy stupor as he upended a pot of honey over the top. Sprout sat at his elbow, trying and failing to hide a look of annoyance as he scraped the last of the honey out with his knife, her own pancakes sitting dry on her breakfast plate.

However, there was no sign of their wayward Defence professor.

Dropping his spoon with a clatter and shoving himself away from the table, Harry stood with little grace and stomped out of the Great Hall, ignoring the curious glances and whispers on the way. He stopped reluctantly in the Entrance Hall when a familiar voice called after him, one he knew wasn’t wise to ignore. 

“Mr Potter, you’re yet to get your timetable!” McGonagall called, waving a sheet at him from the threshold of the hall. Students walking past stared curiously, unabashed in their rudeness. She approached him quickly and slapped the rolled-up parchment into his awaiting hand, raising an inquiring brow at him. Harry huffed out the breath he’d been holding and smiled weakly at the headmistress.

“Thanks, I forgot,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. 

Eying him shrewdly, McGonagall sighed as her features softened fractionally. “Then it’s a good thing that somebody has their head screwed on this morning, isn’t it Potter? I can’t imagine what you presumed to do with your day.”

Harry met her eyes and saw a question there, but he shook his head minutely. “I… I’m not really sure, but thanks for this,” he waved the parchment at McGonagall in a little salute, turning on his heel to leave.

Before he could walk away, McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. He stopped and glanced curiously over his shoulder.

“We’ll talk later, Potter. Meet me at my office after dinner tonight,” she said sternly. Harry started, about to ask what for, before he caught her eyes. They were sharply remorseful above her high, wrinkled cheek bones, and he suddenly knew what she wanted to discuss. He nodded, his fists clenching against the memory of yesterday. He held her eyes for a beat longer, shooting her another weak, wobbling smile before pivoting away and marching up the grand staircase.

By the time he came to the moving staircases, he realised he didn’t even know where he was supposed to be going. Pressing himself against the wall to let other students past and rolling open the parchment in his fist, he scanned his lessons for the day.

Harry recognised many of the classes he had taken in his sixth year, all reflecting his choice to become an Auror. He wasn’t sure whether that was the path in life he wanted to take any more, all things considered, but decided that getting N.E.W.Ts in the subjects he’d already chosen might open up the field anyway.

Advanced Potions was scheduled as the first lesson of the morning, and Harry’s stomach leapt sickly in anticipation before he remembered that Snape was no longer their potions master.  It was so easy to imagine Snape as he always used to be; potion stained fingers hovering over a glowing cauldron, eyes like chipped flint as he sneered at any student unfortunate enough to be in his class.

Pulling in a steadying breath, Harry folded his timetable and shoved it into his school bag, then started back down the grand staircase. After weaving through the throngs of students rushing to classes and reluctantly helping a lost first year find her way to Transfiguration, the archway to the dungeons loomed into view. Harry stopped briefly, looking down into the torch-lit tunnels and shivering at the chill that always seemed to emanate from there.

He certainly was _not_ shivering in any sort of anticipation. Snape was probably in the hospital wing after last night.

 _Pull it together..._ Harry scolded, forcing his feet to move into the dungeons beyond, his old trainers squeaking noisily against the buffed stone.

Even down here, in Slytherin territory, people still stared. They whispered and tried to attract his attention, pushing friends to approach him and tripping over themselves to get the first word in. One boy stumbled into his path and grinned nervously, holding a wizarding camera to his chest.

“Harry Potter, can I take your picture?” the first year boy asked in a polite voice, smiling up toothily. He had a shock of white-blonde hair and reminded Harry of a pleasant Draco Malfoy, also noting with surprise that the boy was a Slytherin.

The war really had changed everyone, or at least changed everyone’s perspective.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to decline, someone bustled behind him and clapped a hand onto his shoulder merrily, causing his legs to buckle slightly with the enthusiasm of the movement.

“Harry m’boy, just who I wanted to see! Ah yes, we’d love a photo, wouldn’t we? Yes, lovely,” Slughorn chattered happily, steering Harry into position and grasping his hand in an imitation of a handshake.

Harry stuttered in response, turning his head just as the blinding flash and puff of smoke went off, feeling about ninety per cent sure that he looked like an utter prat for the photo. The small boy squeaked in pleasure, running back to his group of friends and telling them that he was going to get it signed and sent to his parents.

Before anyone could get any more ideas, Harry slunk away from Slughorn while he was bathing happily in the crowd Harry’s presence had drawn into the dungeons. But his solitude was short lived when Slughorn noticed his absence and came jogging after him, puffing all the way.

“Harry, slow down would you? I’m not as young as I once was!” Slughorn said as he levelled with Harry, smiling eagerly. The door to their potions class loomed, and Harry slowed down reluctantly to listen to his professor.

“Sorry sir, it’s just... the crowds,”

“No need to explain, I understand! They can’t get enough can they?” he chuckled, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where the students were watching their exchange.

Harry laughed dismissively, shuffling his feet and wanting nothing other than to get into class and blend in with the furniture. Slughorn beheld him curiously for a second, before barrelling on.

“Well I’m not here to talk about them in any case. I was wondering if you’d come to our first Slug Club meeting this Saturday – we’re going all out this weekend m’boy, a celebration of sorts!”

Harry winced, meeting Slughorn’s expectant eyes. “Uh, a celebration of what?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“Our victory of course! Your victory, The Saviour of the Wizarding World! We’re yet to celebrate you, Harry, and I’d love it if you’d join us. I shall invite all of your friends, Ginevra included!” Slughorn winked, and stared at Harry with barely disguised desperation.

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, after all the last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to himself, and the last time he and Ginny saw one another they’d called an end to their relationship. But the look on Slughorn’s face stopped him. This man had helped in the war, he’d helped protect the students and he’d helped in the fight, even going as far to face Voldemort directly.

Harry owed Slughorn the courtesy of attending his party, even if just this once. Scrubbing his hand back through his already unruly hair, he maintained eye contact with his professor and smiled.

“I’d like that Professor. What time on Saturday?” Harry asked politely, not surprised when Slughorn’s expectancy turned into barely restrained joy on his round face.

“Excellent, just excellent! I’ll have an invite sent to you by owl in the week! Now come on, we’ll be late for our own class – don’t want that do we?”

Harry followed the over-joyed Slughorn down the hall and into the small potions class, feeling stupid when everyone was already sat at their desks with their quills and books out, waiting for them patiently. Neville caught his gaze and Harry shrugged, slinging his bag off his shoulder and dropping onto the stool next him.

The lesson eventually began after much fussing, and Slughorn enthused at the front of the class about the coming year, going over the N.E.W.T prospectus for everyone to take note of. Neville kept glancing worriedly at Harry over his notes, but Harry smiled faintly and ignored it in favour for twirling his wand idly between his fingers, lost in thought.

 _Should I go to find him? Apologise for everything? Or will that just make everything worse than it already is? Bloody hell, this is a mess…_ Harry mused, pinching the bridge of his nose with his spare hand. The inside of his head was a frenzied mess, spinning with plans and apologies and eyes like cracked black ice, staring at him in disgust.

“Uh, Harry…” Neville whispered desperately, nudging his stack of notes into Harry’s hand as he dropped it back down to the table. Harry looked up at Neville just as he began to realise something smelt faintly of burnt hair.

Neville pointed above Harry’s head, seeming torn between anxious and amused. Harry looked up just in time to dodge a swirling piece of ignited ash as it spewed from the tip of his wand, cursing while he did.

Twirling his wand absentmindedly as he had been, he’d created a flurry of ember to rain down around him, singing his hair and his robes. Swearing out loud again, Harry jumped up and dropped his wand to the table, angrily patting his head and shoulders to extinguish any lingering embers.

“Harry, what’s the matter my dear boy – oh Merlin,” Slughorn approached from the front of the class, his brow puckering in concern and unhelpfully patting and brushing at Harry’s shoulders to rid him of the ash that had collected there.

“Blimey Harry! It’s usually me startin’ fires!” Seamus called, snickering again at Harry’s continued misfortune. Harry sneered in Seamus’ direction, earning him a raised pair of eyebrows and hands held up in a placating gesture.

“Bloody hell, keep your socks on,” he murmured, a look of concern crossing his face. Harry just turned away from him, looking to Slughorn.

“May I be excused for a moment, Professor?” Harry asked, willing a pleading look into being on his face; he knew he could play on Slughorn’s soft side.

Slughorn dusted some more ash from his shoulders, before looking into his eyes. Harry felt himself squirm at the scrutiny, but after a moment he nodded.

“Yes. Take a moment Harry. Maybe you’d be so kind as to take a trip to the Hospital Wing? I find myself in need of Goosegrass for our class today – Madam Pomfrey should be in receipt of some,” Slughorn offered kindly, his large hand still resting on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry couldn’t feel the panic begin to constrict his chest until after it had shown on his face, the very thought of facing who might be waiting for him in the Hospital Wing hitting him like a curse, and Slughorn suddenly looked taken aback. “M’boy, are you quite alright—” 

“Yes – no that would be fine, thanks Professor.” Harry stumbled over his words, backing away from Slughorn and bending to pick up his wand, blushing madly. “I’ll get your – um, Goosegrass. Back in a bit.”

He fled from the room then, away from the curious stares and concerned faces. He shut the classroom door smartly behind him stumbled up the corridor, willing himself not to look for the section of wall that had opened at his touch just last night.

By the time he had travelled the length of the dungeon and stalked up the grand staircase, Harry fled to the first bathroom he found and shut himself in, only after he’d locked the door noticing that he was in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom on the first floor.

No one ever went in there anyway.

Walking over to the sinks with their ornate, snake-shaped faucets, Harry filled his hands with a small amount of water then threw it over his face, his breath hitching as the cold splash ran down his cheeks and neck.

Poised over the sink he stared back at his ragged reflection, reminded of a sobbing Malfoy back in sixth year. He let his gaze linger for a beat longer before squeezing his eyes closed, willing his frayed nerves into submission.

Life had been difficult, after the war. He found himself on edge more times than not, and had a difficult time maintaining composure in large crowds, unable to quell the feeling that he always had to be alert, no matter how many people told him he was finally free. Before Hermione had left for Australia she had told him it could be post-traumatic stress, and to consult a Healer so it didn’t progress into something worse.

Harry had placated her with promises that he’d talk to someone, that he’d see someone and get it sorted, but he had done no such thing. Without her there to nag him into doing something about it, he’d let it stew over the past weeks, the feeling gradually getting heavier by the day.

The business with Snape had not helped in the slightest.

Cupping another handful of water, he splashed it over his face a second time and sighed, relishing the calming and clearing effect the water had on his mind.

Harry pulled in a large breath, letting his chest puff out and exhaling slowly, counting to ten in his head and opening his eyes to stare back at himself again. He looked calmer then, the muscles in his face relaxed.

Relishing in the feeling of taking control of his emotions, Harry pushed away from the sink and walked to entrance to the bathroom, silently grateful that Moaning Myrtle was blissfully absent in his time of emotional duress.

A quick alohomora and Harry was back through the bathroom door, this time walking at a leisurely pace as he steeled himself for the visit ahead.

 _I’ll be in and out. I don’t even need to speak to Snape, it can wait until he’s better. I’ll ask Madam Pomfrey for the Goosegrass and be gone..._ Harry thought, making his way over to the Hospital Wing, traversing the first floor corridors even more slowly as to delay the inevitable.

The Hospital Wing slid into view all too soon, and Harry swallowed against the familiar feeling of constriction in his throat.  Stamping the feeling into submission for a second time, he reached the entrance to the hospital and leaned in close, quietly cracking open one of the doors enough to peek through.

“Poppy, I absolutely insist. I am of no use to anyone locked up in here – I am more than capable of looking after myself!” the impatient retort reached Harry’s ears the moment he pushed the door, and his nerves renewed as he listened from the doorway.  The only thing he could see from his vantage point was a bed with the curtains drawn at the far side of the room.

“Severus, you are under my care and I will dismiss you _when I see fit._ In fact you are still under my care until Christmas, so you and I will be seeing a lot more of each other before the school term is up.”

“Yes but I can consult you from my rooms if necessary—”

“I am not your House-elf, Severus!”

“I don’t mean to imply—”

“Don’t you trust my word as a healer? You are weak, and you need rest. It’ll do you to stay for one more night while I assess you!”

“Poppy, I trust you with my health more than anyone. But I have lessons to plan and students to teach. I will not be an invalid!”

Harry heard Madam Pomfrey make a frustrated noise, sounding as though she was ready to go back on her healer’s oath and throttle Snape in his bed.

“Fine, you will stay here until _after_ dinner, and I will then allow you back to your chambers to sleep—”

“Poppy—”

“No, I have made a compromise and I expect you to do the same!” Madam Pomfrey shouted, as Harry listened to her foot tapping impatiently on the polished marble of the Hospital Wing.

He listened to their argument for a while, hovering nervously on the threshold. Finally, feeling obligated to save Madam Pomfrey from further dispute, he stepped firmly into the Hospital Wing and walked slowly up the middle of the aisle, hoping beyond hope that Snape would pay him no mind.

Coming level with where he could hear Snape and Madam Pomfrey arguing heatedly, Harry startled when the curtain surrounding the bed was suddenly jerked back and Madam Pomfrey stepped out primly, staring straight at him. He heard Snape sigh loudly in disdain from behind the curtain as she approached.

“Harry, how are we dear? Not feeling under the weather are we?” Pomfrey fussed, approaching him and running a critical eye over his face.  “You _are_ looking a bit peaky; do you need a Pepper Up potion?” she asked before Harry could collect himself enough to respond, already turning to her trolley supply standing a little way away.

“No – Madam Pomfrey, I’m fine. I’m here for Professor Slughorn actually, he sent me to ask if you had any, uh, Goosegrass—”

“Whatever does he need some for?" Pomfrey quipped, turning back around and facing Harry with her hands planted on her hips.

Shuffling uncomfortably, Harry began to approach her. “Well, we’re starting our N.E.W.T study, and I think our first module has something to do with medicinal brewing... I offered to get some for him.” he tapered off, looking at her expectantly. She looked back but didn’t seem convinced, concern wrinkling her forehead.

Harry felt his skin crawl at the implication in her eyes, annoyed that she was even considering him a liar. He knew that she was only ever critical because she cared, but it still made him feel like an unruly eleven-year-old all over again.

“I’m sure he could’ve retrieved some himself, but you’re here now. Give me a second Harry, I need to nip to my office,” she walked right past him and he followed without thinking about it, watching the swishing hem of her healer’s robes as she retreated.

By the time her office door shut with a resounding click, he snapped himself out of his absentminded wandering, stopping and leaning heavily against the closest wrought metal bedframe. He dropped his gaze to a loose thread on his sleeve and began picking at it, lost to his thoughts.

“Why in Merlin’s name does Slughorn need Goosegrass? Aren’t the stocks I left him with sufficient?!” was sneered loudly, and it was all Harry could do but jump violently at the voice, whipping his head upright so quickly his neck cracked.

Snape was speaking to _him_ from a few rows down, still in his bed with the curtains drawn. Harry stared for a second longer, aghast that Snape was even _addressing_ him, before walking with what he hoped was casual ease and stopping at the front of the bed, his fingers still picking at the wayward thread.

Snape sat directly parallel to Harry, the curtains just open at the front of his bed.  Dark eyes glared at him from the recesses within, the man fully dressed atop the bed with his long, trouser-clad legs crossed casually at the ankle.

“Well, boy? If that intemperate _fool_ can’t even keep fair order of the stock cupboard while teaching years through one to seven, Merlin help us all!” Snape snapped, his eyes angry and vicious. He looked restless and offended, scouring Harry on the spot.

“Uh—” Harry mumbled ineloquently, unsure how to respond. Which he knew was exactly the way to wind Snape up even more.

“Don’t strain yourself Potter! If you could be so kind as to endeavour to use your brain—”

“He didn’t tell me! He just asked me to get some, that’s it.” Harry snapped back, refusing to be insulted.

Snape’s eyes were beseeching as he stared, then he looked away, sighing derisively. “Honestly, I don’t expect any more from our current _Potions Master_. During my tenure, the stores were arranged and maintained alphabetically, I wager that the room looks more like the Quidditch broomshed now!” He seethed, looking ready to get and up and inspect the cupboard himself.

“I remember,” Harry offered tentatively, drawing Snape’s eyes to him again. “You had me sorting everything in there every time you gave me detention..”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up and he let out a short, amused snort. “Ah, yes. We have our fun, don’t we Potter?” he snarked, but without his usual dose of malice, so Harry took it as a win.

Without thinking about it, Harry approached the end of Snape’s bed and gripped the railing, his mind home to a million different thoughts, all vying for room in his head.

Snape was talking again, the condescending tone of it brushing over him like an icy breeze. But he wasn’t really listening, because he could feel compulsion overriding sense and he suddenly felt himself talking in a rush –

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen last night – please—”

“Silence!” came the retort, cutting Harry off completely. He sealed his lips tightly and nodded his head in acquiesce, feeling stupid again. Snape sat up in the bed, meeting his eyes lividly and breathing a calming breath.

“Yes, you were a self-righteous, arrogant fool, but I concede that I was a fool for letting you in there in the first place. So for once we stand on even footing.” He finished, rolling his shoulders against the pillows and maintaining his gaze.

Harry gripped the rails harder, surprised even though the not-apology was backhanded.  “Thanks – I guess? Are you OK—’

“Perfectly well, I’m sure you heard my dispute with Madam Pomfrey,” he gritted out, his jaw sharp with obvious restraint. That Snape was even attempting to be civil was a huge feat, and an even bigger mystery.

“So—” Harry started reluctantly.

“ _So,_ it’s water under the bridge, as they say. Drop it Potter, lest we get back to our miserable lives.” Snape grated out, seeming close to his tether. Harry nodded, quirking his brow in confusion but choosing not to argue it further.

Snape nodded back curtly, his lank hair moving around his face before he brushed it back impatiently. He seemed to think on something for a moment, before addressing Harry again.

“Potter, do make yourself useful and—”

“—Do you need me to help you with anything at all? I know I offered before but you look like you need it and I… oh, um…” Harry cut across again, blushing and grimacing simultaneously when he realised his rudeness. He gathered himself visibly when Snape turned a ferocious glare on him, his mouth gaping like a fish in his outrage.

Harry took a step back from the foot of the bed, cursing his wayward tongue as Snape sat bolt upright on the bed, all towering fury.

_Shit… you’ve done it this time…_

Before Snape could utter a single syllable, however, Pomfrey came bustling up to them with a look of enlightenment on her face, beholding Harry as if he was a beacon of glorious light.

“Harry! What a brilliant, gracious offer!” she gushed happily, beaming at him. “If you could keep a seeker’s eye on our Professor here, it would give me more time to attend to other things and he wouldn’t have to be up here as often. The first years get themselves into all sorts of trouble; the start of the year is always the busiest,” she turned to Snape, looking as if she’d found the solution to both of their problems.

“ _Absolutely not_!” Snape all but screeched, and Harry took another step away from the man in front of him. Pomfrey, however, walked closer, her face moulding into one of exasperation and scolding.

“There is a solution for us both here Severus – Harry keeps an eye on your progress and informs me of any problems if necessary – we both know he did a good enough job of that last night – and you get your freedom from my ward!” She cried, a note of frustration evident in her voice.

“And leave my wellbeing to this, this _boy?_ Ever our gracious _saviour!_ ” Snape spat, black with malice, and Harry felt an angry flush colour his neck at the slight, his fists tensing convulsively.

“This _boy_ saved your life! _You would do well to remember that!_ ” Pomfrey shouted back, the sound echoing all around the sconce-lit infirmary.

Everything descended into eerie silence then, Snape’s dark eyes wide with surprise and Pomfrey’s shoulders rising and lowering on calming breaths.

Harry swallowed against the tension, making a decision and walking towards the bed.

“If he doesn’t want my help, Madam Pomfrey, I can’t force it,” Harry murmured, meeting Snape’s still surprised eyes firmly. “I should get back to my lesson. Do you have the Goosegrass, please?” he finished politely, dropping the ex-Potion Master’s stare and looking to Pomfrey expectantly.

Blowing out a hard breath and making the stray hairs falling from her healer’s hat dance, Pomfrey dipped her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out a squat phial, full of what appeared to be thick, red-tinged reeds.

“Here. Should our Professor change his mind, I shall let you know. Now off you go!” Pomfrey exclaimed, giving him another warm look and moving him along with a flap of her hand.

Harry caught Snape’s gaze one last time; he looked calculating, fingers steepled in his lap and eyes fiery but considering.  He raised an eyebrow at Harry’s staring, but Harry just bit his lip nervously and turned away.

“Thanks for this,” Harry shook the phial. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder, striding away as Pomfrey threw up a hand in a friendly goodbye wave.

As Harry reached the door, he heard Pomfrey and Snape begin their argument again, and slowed down a little to listen.

“I have saved that boy’s life more times than I can count!”

“I’m not disputing that Severus, but you must trust him by now! No Ministry-issued healer or healer's assistant will keep an eye on you for me; he's the best thing you've got and the only other person willing to do it - ”

"Minerva -"

"Our headmistress has too much to be getting on with, don't you think?!"

The noise of their argument followed him out of the Hospital Wing, and Harry couldn’t help a small smile as they continued to bicker over him.

Harry tucked the phial of Goosegrass into the pocket of his school robe and made his way back to his potions class, feeling lighter for the trip despite his original reluctance and Snape’s snide insults. He made it back to the grand staircase, the wizards and witches in their portraits along the walls failing to look discreet as they followed him from frame to frame, speaking in excited murmurs.

He found that he didn’t mind as much as he had earlier.

      

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                 

Harry considered his plate of corned beef hash and carrots at tea time that night, for once not glaring it into submission. He let out a quiet laugh at the thought, happily tucking into his dinner and ignoring the never-ending stares he seemed to be on the receiving end of at all hours of the day.

He felt more than saw Neville collapse down next to him, looking exhausted and muddy, but content. Harry looked away from his food and smiled, deciding that it was about time he talked to his friend instead of maintaining his dour silence.

“Everything OK?” he asked, giving Neville a friendly shoulder-shove. His face lit up as he turned to face Harry, looking relieved by the change in Harry’s tone.

“Great! I’ve been down the greenhouses with Professor Spout all evening - she’s been showing me how to cultivate Venomous Tentacula!” Neville enthused, looking positively thrilled for a person dealing with mobile and highly venomous plants. He turned away from Harry for a moment, scooping a liberal amount of Shepard’s pie onto his dinner plate.

“That sounds… highly dangerous and a little bit terrifying. What’s the occasion?” Harry teased well humouredly.

“Well, Professor Sprout is going to be taking on an apprentice! So she offered to help me with some extra revision before I apply for it after our N.E.W.Ts.  Isn’t that bloody brilliant, Harry?” Neville practically vibrated with excitement, and then enthusiastically ate a forkful of his pie. Harry beheld him proudly, finishing a mouthful of his own food before speaking.

“Definitely, and you’ll smash it! No one else is as good at Herbology as you, Neville, Sprout wouldn’t even think about picking someone else—”

“Picking who for what now?” a familiar voice chimed in, and Harry turned to see Ron drop into the seat opposite, just catching the end of their conversation and grinning in all his freckly-brilliance.

“Ron! You prat, what took you so long? Dinner is almost bloody over!” Harry exclaimed, grinning in poorly disguised relief. He reached across the table to grip Ron’s hand where it rested on the table top, the gesture intimate, but like something only brothers would share. Ron squeezed back and met his eyes happily, so Harry dropped his hand and leaned back, quirking an eyebrow as to usher along his explanation.

“Got held up mate. George wanted the shop to be finished by tonight, so I had to stay late. It’ll be open by tomorrow – we should stick our heads in when we get the chance!” Ron finished, beginning to pile food from golden platters onto his own plate. He quirked his own eyebrow and nodded at his food in request, and Harry laughed and nodded back.

After that he began to tuck in, shoving a chicken leg in his mouth with such vigour that a part Harry feared he’d choke. But he’d known Ron long enough to know that he had a voracious appetite and a very large mouth to go along with it; he needn’t worry, that was Hermione’s job.

Harry watched both him and Neville with a slight smile on his face, nodding in the appropriate places as they chattered and bathed in the golden complacency they brought; he felt at home between them, in this magical hall, surrounded by delicious food and people who loved him.

He suddenly felt bad for acting like such a miserable git over the past couple of days. He knew he’d been insufferable, but spending time without Ron and Hermione had been difficult. They were like the glue that held him together; the stitching that kept his grief from spilling out.

Hermione was right. He needed to speak to someone. But for now, he felt content in the company of his friends.

Suddenly, he realised that Ron couldn’t know about Snape yet, since he’d been out of school until now.

“You know Snape’s alive, don’t you?” Harry cut in, interrupting his story of George spiking him with a tweaked love potion that resulted in him being enamoured with the kitchen clock for a day.  

“Everyone needs an outlet for their grief, you know, but I’m not sure if – you what, Harry!?” Ron spluttered, almost dropping the bread roll he’d been about to take a bite out of.

“Snape. He’s alive. And he’s going to be teaching Defence...”

“I... what!?” Ron deadpanned, the roll falling out of his hand this time, bouncing and rolling down the table. Neville caught it before it rolled off the edge, tentatively pushing it back towards Ron’s limp hand.

Ron took the offering but instantly put it beside his plate, his eyes wide and his food forgotten. “But he – I thought it didn’t work!?”

“So did I. Imagine my surprise...” Harry murmured sullenly, meeting Ron’s shocked blue eyes.

“How – what happened?!” Ron demanded, looking wildly to the head table. When he didn’t find who Harry knew he was looking for, his hands lowered and gripped the edge of the table top, and he looked like he was anchoring himself for the explanation to follow.

Harry sighed hugely, and then started from the beginning. He explained the evening of the Sorting Ceremony, then his trip that same night. He even deigned to tell Ron about what happened in the Hospital Wing, describing the argument Snape and Pomfrey had, but missing out the part where he'd offered to help their professor; he decided to have that conversation with Ron another time. 

Through his admission, Ron’s expression was locked in place; shock and awe shaping his features. He let his food go cold and kept gripping the table, listening with rapt attention. If he looked a little pallid, Harry wasn’t going to mention it.

“Wow, Harry.. I didn’t know you did that..” Neville piped up, looking solemn but proud. Harry nodded back, considering Neville’s expression.

“Yeah, well I didn’t even know it worked. It was as much of a surprise for me as it was for you when he turned up here.” Harry admitted, looking back to Ron. He was looking down at his plate of unfinished food, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Fucking hell...” Ron murmured, seemingly lost to himself.

Suddenly, all of the plates disappeared from the table, signalling the end of dinner. Ron blinked rapidly, then his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I wasn’t bloody finished with that!” he exclaimed, as if the house elves could even hear him. Harry couldn’t help let out an amused laugh, despite the low mood that had fallen over their gathering.

Ron smiled slightly, meeting Harry’s eyes again. “That isn’t the first time Snape has made me miss food, but it’s usually because he has me in detention!”

Neville laughed with them, looking a little lighter. “Well, they left your roll!” he pointed out, and sure enough, the bread roll sat alone by Ron’s elbow.

Ron eyed it, his gaze incredulous, before he shrugged, picking it up and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out like a hamster, and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

“C’mon, I need to meet McGongall, she wants to speak to me in her office – and you need your timetable,” Harry offered, stretching then standing up.

“Alright,” Ron agreed, swallowing the food in his mouth then getting up as well, looking in question at Neville.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow I suppose, I’m going to bed and I’ll probably be asleep when you get back,” Neville said, covering his mouth to yawn. He got up, smiled at both of them then strode away, his muddy robes swishing as he walked out of the hall.

Harry looked at Ron, nodding in the direction of the head table. McGonagall was still there, looking at them over the top of her glasses expectantly.

They walked slowly, on opposite sides of the Gryffindor table. Harry discreetly observed his friend; he still looked a little shell-shocked, but had recovered somewhat since, seeming to be deep in thought.

Ron turned his head as if he noticed Harry’s stare. “You think he’ll be alright? Not that I care about the greasy git…”

“Ron…” Harry admonished, his brow furrowing.

“Force of habit mate.” Ron admitted, looking a little sheepish. Harry huffed loudly, shaking his head as they approached the head table and catching McGonagall’s stern eyes.

“Yeah, he’ll be OK.” He murmured, not sure if he was telling himself, Ron or McGonagall.

 

* * *

 

Sipping a cup over over-brewed tea, Harry looked over the desk at McGonagall calmly, waiting for her to compose herself. It was so out of character for her to fuss as she was, that Harry felt himself begin to grow a little nervous, but maintained a patient posture.

“Potter – Harry. Firstly, I want to apologise,” McGonagall started finally, sitting back against her chair and cupping her own tea between her thin hands.

“Professor, there’s no need—”

“There is every need. I should have told you that Professor Snape was alive, I’m very sorry that I didn’t,” she interrupted firmly, her gaze searching. Harry nodded reluctantly, waiting for her to continue.

“Between ensuring Professor Snape’s survival, rebuilding the school and obtaining the various permissions for him to be allowed to teach here again, it left me with little time for talking to the people I wanted to be talking to. Namely yourself,” McGonagall finished, taking a quick sip of her tea, her face uncharacteristically soft.

Harry considered her for a while, sipping his own tea before placing it onto the desk between them.  “How is Snape teaching here? Did you want him back?” he asked, looking up in that moment to Dumbledore’s portrait. The man in question stared back, his eyes twinkling characteristically, but he remained silent.

“Yes, I did. It was difficult to obtain him as our Defence Professor, but Mr Shacklebolt’s advance to Minster for Magic was a huge help, if I must say so myself. He granted Professor Snape the permission to retain a teaching position here until his trial—”

“His trial? They’re trying him, after everything?!” Harry exclaimed, feeling something vicious unfurl in his chest. McGonagall looked back at him sadly and nodded, taking another sip of her tea before continuing.

“Yes Potter. He is to be tried for his part in the war. Professor Snape committed a series of atrocities – in the name of the greater good, of course!” she finished firmly when Harry looked like he was about to protest.

“That is no way to treat a war hero! What about his memories, the ones I left for you to see?” Harry pleaded. He grabbed for his tea again to have something to occupy his hands with, lest he punch the table in anger, or something equally irrational.

“I agree. But this is what we’re left with. I viewed the memories Harry, as have many people, all with Professor Snape’s permission of course. This evidence will be used in his trial, and we hope it’ll be enough to clear him.”

“It will. He will be cleared,” Harry said firmly, injecting his voice with a confidence that he didn’t feel.

McGongall looked at him, her forefinger swirling around the rim of her cup in idle movement. “We hope. The odds are in our favour, I admit. Professor Snape will teach at Hogwarts in a well-deserved position until the trial, and if he is found to be innocent, he shall resume teaching for the foreseeable future.”

“And if he isn’t?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

“He will be incarcerated,” McGonagall finished simply, finally dropping her cup to the desk and visibly reigning in her solemnness.

“But we mustn’t give that any thought at the moment. We must work to bring Professor Snape back to full health, and we must make him feel welcome. I will be speaking to all of the students in my class, and I will ask them to treat him with respect. Merlin knows he deserves as much!” She exclaimed firmly, her no-nonsense attitude rubbing off on Harry.

“I’ll tell everyone I know that Snape deserves our support, anyone who’ll listen,” he said, meeting and holding McGonagall’s proud stare. He quirked a small smile and she smiled back, closed-mouthed and admiring.

“That would be most appreciated Harry. Still, I am sorry that I wasn’t able to tell you about Professor Snape prior to your arrival. I can’t begin to imagine your shock…” she trailed off, her sharp eyes searching his face and her smile turning into a hard line.

“It was a shock. But I’ll get over it,” Harry advised simply, lowering his tea cup back to the desk for the last time and standing, looking down at McGonagall. “I have to go Professor. I promised I’d meet Ron in the common room before bed.”

“Of course Harry. Do look after yourself, and don’t hesitate to pop in for if you need anything,” McGonagall stood as well, her wand sliding out of her sleeve. With a quick flick, their tea was banished and the door to her office creaked open slowly.

He smiled at her one last time before turning away, but found himself rooted to the spot as something crossed his mind.

“I offered him help, but he doesn’t seem very keen on taking it.” Harry admitted, not bothering to look back at the headmistress.

He heard her sigh in what sounded like an amused way. “I very much suspect that our Professor Snape has too much pride. I tried to offer the same thing.”

Harry laughed then, the sound peeling from his chest. He shook his head and started towards the door.

“Professor Snape doesn’t hate you Harry,” he heard just as he made it over the threshold. This time he did turn, his eyes beseeching and hopeful, betraying him. McGonagall settled herself back behind her desk and rested her arms upon the polished oak.

His chest aching, he found her eyes. She betrayed a rare softness there once again, the warm glow from the ignited candles in the room glinting off the grey strands in her hair and the metal of her spectacles.

“Give it time,” she told him, her voice quiet as it carried over the office.

He continued to stare at her, his gaze portraying a subtle sort of longing. Then he turned again, beginning his decent down the tight spiral staircase that led into the office just as they ground to life and began to carry him forward.

“Goodnight Professor,” Harry called back, and heard her wish him the same in return before her office door clicked shut with surety. He reached the end of the staircase and pushed past the statue, listening to it slide back into place as he stopped in the quiet night-time corridor.

He couldn’t bring himself to move for a second, finding himself staring through the closest window at the night lit by a full moon, the lake’s surface a mass of rippling silver. His thoughts were twisting rapidly through his head, blinding him to the present as he sorted through the mess.

“Ah, Mr Potter. Out for a walk... in the moonlight?” Someone commented smartly, and despite his shock Harry couldn’t help but laugh low in his throat at the reference to before, even if Lupin’s death was still fresh and sharp in his mind.

Snape strode slowly towards him from the darkness beside the window, seemingly part of the shadows as his long black robes trailed out behind him. He stopped a few steps away from Harry, a faint sneer accompanying his sallow features. Harry turned around fully and met the sneer, feeling curious despite his weariness.

Coincidences like this were part and parcel of his life now, so he just accepted them as they came.

“On your way back to the dungeons, sir?” he asked tentatively, feeling himself begin to fidget as he looked up at Snape, the man’s taller height giving him the advantage in their exchange.

“Yes. Our infamously stubborn healer has released me after much protest,” Snape advised simply, looking down his nose at Harry. He seemed to consider something for a moment, before sniffing in obvious disdain and stepping to move around Harry. He strode away down the corridor, a small limp accompanying his gait and the blackness of his robes vanishing him into the gloom.

Without giving it much thought, Harry made after him, jogging until he came level with the ex-Potions Master. He slowed down and matched the man’s pace, looking to the side at his companion’s unwelcoming expression.

“Something you need? It can wait,” Snape deadpanned, sparing him a measly glance before looking away again, his jaw set in an agitated line.

“Nothing. I just—”

“I don’t have all night.” Snape cut across, looking straight ahead. Harry looked ahead too, the corridor lit by the moon in stretched squares of light.

“How are you feeling?” Harry tried, catching glimpses of Snape as his figure flashed in an out of the darkness as they walked.

Another frustrated sigh filled the silence, and Snape graced him with an annoyed flick of his gunmetal eyes. “I hardly believe that’s any of your business. I hoped you’d have realised that much by now, Potter.”

Snape was always difficult, Harry had known this from the start but he couldn’t help but pry. He briefly thought that it would be wise to ask himself _why,_ but he chose to ignore that and barrelled on anyway as the moving staircases came into view.

“It’s my fault that you—”

“I thought we agreed to look past our little _tiff,_ but since you are so insistent, I am _fine._ Now do leave me alone, you are being insufferable!” Snape snapped, trying and failing to pick up a faster pace.

Harry felt an age-old anger flare up in response, but he choked it back with much effort and reminded himself of McGonagall’s advice to _give it time._ Before he could think of a response, Snape paused suddenly on the step to the first moving staircase, falling a few paces back and gasping down a quiet grunt of pain.

Harry doubled back and searched the man urgently, stopping a step away as Snape gingerly cupped his bandage-swathed neck in a long-fingered hand. Harry watched as he slumped against the banister, breath sharp as it whistled from his nose. He was prodding gently at the dressing, his head hanging low and his hair obscuring his eyes as he gripped the banister in a bid to remain upright.

 _Fuck it_ Harry thought then, approaching Snape and sliding his hand over the man’s knuckles where they lay on the wood. He looked up under Snape’s hair and felt panic constrict his chest at the pained look on his professor’s face.

Harry smoothed his forefinger over Snape’s rough knuckle, and in that moment his eyes opened, meeting Harry’s in a way that was neither angry or in agony. He simply looked mildly curious, and he turned minutely too look at their joined hands, his plain expression belaying no outright emotion.

“What’s wrong, should I call Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked in a quite murmur, striving not to startle the man into anger. He idly ran his finger over the knuckles under his hand again, quietly relishing Snape’s moment of calm.

Then Snape seemed to snap out of it, pulling his hand out from under Harry’s and standing straighter, his other hand falling from the bandages on his neck and down to his side. But the mild look remained, a curious thing without any heat.

“No need, the pain will pass. A situational hazard,” was murmured back, the hand that Harry had touched flexing as he held it close to his body. Harry made to protest, but Snape silenced him with a finger to his lips, his features turning stern.

“I will not repeat myself,” he finished quietly, dropping Harry’s eyes and suddenly making his way around him, taking the stairs even more carefully this time and showing Harry his back. Harry made to follow but paused when Snape looked back at him, his foot hovering in mid-air at the irritated look that was fired in his direction.

“You will soon be breaking curfew. Do make your way back to your dorm, Potter, and endeavour to keep yourself out of trouble… as difficult for you as that may be.”

Harry lowered his leg and looked on desperately as Snape walked away from him, torn between listening and making sure he got back to the dungeons OK, despite the wrath that would surely befall him. Snape seemed to sense his internal battle, because he turned again and sneered, raising a sceptical brow.

“I will be _fine_. As much as you’ve always believed it in your conceited arrogance, you are _not_ an exception to the rules!” was snapped at Harry, then Snape gave him one last condescending glance before walking away, the shadows swallowing him up again as he walked.

Harry hugged his arms around himself then, listening to the witches and wizards as they snored in their frames and staring balefully at the spot where Snape had disappeared into the darkness. Fleetingly, he realised that he hasn’t once bothered to cast a Lumos during their whole exchange, but knew from experience that the portraits would gripe at him if he had.

Then he turned, exiting the staircases and walking the moonlit corridors that lead to Gryffindor common room, these hallways lit by bracketed candles as to usher the last of the students to bed. He was eventually met by the Fat Lady staring down at him, her expression fond as he murmured the password and clambered through the entrance, a bone-deep sort of tired weighing him down as he straightened on the other side.

He saw Ron sat by the fire, cradling what looked like a Chudley Cannons magazine in his hands and enjoying the heat of the fire. As Harry made his way over, a small smile curling his lips at the sight of his best friend, he cast his mind back to his and Snape’s exchange.

He felt hopeful about it, remembering the man’s curiously thoughtful look as he stared at their interlocked hands. Maybe, eventually, Snape would accept his help.

Suddenly the week ahead looked much brighter.

 

* * *

**TBC**

 


	3. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I'm so sorry for the delay - I fought tooth and nail over this chapter, struggling to get it right and battling to wrestle it into submission; I hope I've done it justice. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Harry suffers a PTSD attack in this chapter. I suffer from a form of PTSD myself, but I hope I've correctly and suitably portrayed the moment without upsetting anyone. If this does upset you, please let me know and I'll think on how I can revise my writing in future.
> 
> The chapter isn't as long as I'd like, but I released it anyway because I wanted you guys to see that I haven't given up on it! We leave off on the premise that there will be another scene unfolding as soon as the chapter ends, so you guys will definitely have something to look forward to... and the good news is, I'm already writing it :)
> 
> Again - this is proofread by me but not beta'd... any mistakes are alllll mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

Harry noticed that Snape had begun to stare at him as his first days back at Hogwarts drew on. 

First, he felt something unusual at breakfast the day after their meeting in the dark corridors. Ever since the war, Harry had been especially sensitive to the sensation of being watched, and pinpointed the feeling as soon as the chill of observant eyes smoothed over the back of his neck like curious fingers.  

Slowly looking around, Harry met an obsidian gaze. Snape was sat in his usual place at the end of the head table, a considering, neutral look on his face. They held each other’s eyes for a considerable number of seconds, before Snape broke it and went back to glaring bitterly down at the amassed students; a look more suited to his usual morning demeanour.  

The next time Snape’s eyes found him, he was emerging from the dungeons with several abashed-looking Slytherin first years as Harry was on his way to lunch. Harry had heard that Snape had not been reinstated as head of Slytherin house for the time being, and he knew that most of all Snape’s previous privileges were dependant on his impending trial. But he supposed that Snape still took on a certain amount of responsibility with his house. 

As one of the scolded boys being herded by the ex-Potions Master exclaimed _look, it’s Harry Potter!_ Snape glanced up sharply and their eyes caught again. Harry couldn’t help but slow down and stare, and Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment before snapping threateningly at the student and making off up the Grand Staircase, the boys loyally at heel with their heads bowed. 

The third time happened during Transfiguration. Snape interrupted the lesson part way through, marching up the aisle between desks with his teaching cloak snapping around his ankles. He faltered ever so slightly upon arriving at McGonagall’s desk, his feet slipping under him and the headmistress stood up in alarm, her high-backed chair screeching against the flagstones in her haste. The loud noise attracted the attention of entire the class, and Snape wasted no time in turning his hateful sneer upon the room after righting himself, even if he looked a little pallid with fatigue. 

“Shouldn’t you be _working?_ I daresay the lot of you will have to retake the year _again_ if your collective attention spans aren’t more than that of the common _Flobberworm_!” he shouted, and it was scathing, bitter, and more like Snape than any of them cared to remember. McGonagall looked disapproving, but she didn’t say a thing as she rushed to their Defence professor’s side and ushered him into a quiet corner to talk, her face stricken with concern.  

Harry had meant to get back to work, but hadn’t been able to keep himself from looking at his two professors as they talked. He absently stroked the spines of his quill and studied the man’s profile, considering McGonagall’s frantic gestures and Snape’s cool, distant air in response, his hands tucked neatly into the folds of his black robe. Harry wondered what Snape needed, wondered after McGonagall’s frustrated but concerned attitude, and then finally wondered if all of this, whatever _this_ was, could have been avoided if Snape had accepted Harry’s help. 

Snape said something brief to McGonagall, and she seemed to huff in dejected defeat, patting him solemnly on the arm as he inclined his head in some sort of acknowledgment, and then they parted ways. Snape made his way back down the aisle between desks, his urgency somewhat less than before, and then it happened again. Their eyes met, and Harry’s fingers stilled on his quill. 

Snape slowed his pace as he drew parallel with Harry, the same strangely neutral look shared between them twice that day on his sallow face. Harry raised his brow slightly in question, and Snape arched one of his own dismissively in return, an ambiguous but not unfriendly response. He then broke the stare once again, carrying straight on ahead and leaving Harry to follow his journey out of the door. 

The fourth time happened the very next afternoon, in their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Wednesday was just as miserable as Monday, rain thundering against ancient window panes and striking up a nonsensical rhythm that could be heard throughout the castle. But it was soothing; the candles up in their various brackets had been lit to lighten the gloom, and the rain that danced from beyond Hogwarts’ weathered walls seemed miles away from the warm cosiness of their classrooms. 

Harry watched the rain as it blistered the windows high on the walls of their Defence class, but he felt anything but soothed; he felt keyed up and antsy, his foot tapping out a staccato beat against the floor below his desk. 

He had attempted to seek Snape out throughout the day, curious over the looks they kept sharing, but as the day dragged listlessly on and Snape was nowhere to be seen, he had become more and more riled in anticipation for their first DADA lesson.  He felt defensive for Snape, and was prepared to challenge anyone who made a fuss about their reinstated professor. 

“You alright mate?” Ron murmured to Harry, turning in Harry’s direction without taking his eyes off the front of the class. Snape stood there silently, facing away from the room with his hands clasped behind his back, observing his cursive script as it appeared wandlessly on the blackboard. 

Harry jumped a little, blinking owlishly and turning to Ron. “Uh, yeah. Just a bit tired, been a long day… you?” 

Ron seemed to consider the question for a while, never taking his eyes from their professor. “Just… never thought I’d see him again, you know? Especially there, teaching like nothing happened. Dunno how I feel about it.” 

“He deserves this chance more than anyone Ron. You know that...” Harry replied, that tense feeling he had dealt with for most of the day crawling reluctantly up his spine. He couldn’t get angry with Ron, he knew that, but he was walking a fine rope that was liable to snap if tested. 

“I know that. Chill out a bit, I can feel you vibrating from here!” Ron finally turned to him, concern wrinkling his forehead. Harry met his best friend’s blue eyes and took a deep breath, calming and relaxing his ridged posture. Ron stepped softly on his bouncing foot under the desk, encouraging him to still. 

“We’ll uh, talk later? If you want I mean… if that’s something you need,” Ron assured awkwardly, and Harry couldn’t help but grin reluctantly; even after everything that happened in the war, Ron was still _Ron._ He grinned back and turned back to the front of the class, but as soon as he did so, his eyes widened and he stilled. 

“Ron…?” Harry asked, unsure. Ron promptly kicked him in the shin and motioned forward with his chin. Harry huffed and swore under his breath before turning to look. 

Snape was pinning him with another look. This time, it was tempered with annoyance, but no less considering and curious. His arms were crossed over his slim chest, lank black hair framing his face as he continued seeking out Harry’s green eyes intently.  

His _mother’s_ green eyes. 

Harry felt his stomach swoop as the thought occurred to him, and it must have shown on his face because Snape titled his head enquiringly in response, his arms dropping to his sides and a scowl rising in his eyes. Harry felt a nervous blush blotch his neck as his brow furrowed in consideration. He tore his eyes away and scrunched them shut; shielding him from Snape’s confounded expression. 

Was  _that_  why Snape continued to seek out his gaze?

Like an old film reel, the memories from _that_ night slid jarringly across his mind, spooling and restarting; thick blood and dead eyes, icy fear and the stench of dittany, the taste of salty tears and the sound of Snape’s last words escaping his cracked, slack lips. 

 _You have your mother’s eyes._  

Suddenly, the world closed in and he couldn’t breathe. The rain smashed more loudly than ever against the windows, the noise of students entering the class sounded like the thunderous march of an army, Ron’s concerned voice at his shoulder warped into a razor-sharp whisper that promised world domination, and Snape’s black eyes reflected even the darkest shadow of the Forbidden Forest, where he walked with ghosts to his demise. 

And Harry _knew_ it wasn’t real, he knew the present was at his fingertips, as tangible as the chipped wood of the desk under his palm. But as the memories drew in, he blatantly had the sense to think _please, not again._  

Amidst seeing the faces of the dead and remembering that poisonous flash of green over and over and over, Harry absently felt strong hands close around his shoulders, hauling him upright. 

The next time he came back to himself, hands were still gripping him firmly about the upper arms. He could hear a timbered voice mumbling soft-nothings close to his ear, but he couldn’t make sense of them yet. He concentrated on the rhythm of the voice, the various nuances and intonations as they floated about his head, lifting the fog and calming his breathing. 

When he finally thought to open his eyes, he found himself looking at the top button of a black tunic, pulled closed at a long, white neck. The murmured words became clear, and the first thing Harry heard was none other than Severus Snape instructing him to _breath_ _e_ _._  

Snape’s face loomed into view as he bent to Harry’s height, and the most surprising thing about it all is that he looked _concerned_.  

“Another breath in, Potter, slowly. Then out through your nose,” he instructed firmly, his eyes skipping around Harry’s face in assessment. Harry did what he was told, taking in a long breath and releasing it slowly, the force of it tickling the ends of Snape’s long hair where they were standing almost nose to nose. 

Harry then took a look around. They were wedged into the Defence store cupboard, various quills, books and supplies stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. It reminded Harry of Snape’s old Potions cupboard with the way it was so carefully managed and maintained. 

“Potter,” Snape called, and Harry slowly met the man’s eyes once again. “Do we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey?” he asked quietly. It was straight to the point, no-nonsense and if you squinted, a little bit impatient. But his face remained a shade concerned, and Harry couldn’t help but marvel over it. 

“No… I’m, uh. It happens sometimes. It hasn’t happened recently, so no, I’ll be OK,” Harry asserted firmly, looking away and hoping that his voice didn’t belay his breathlessness. He shook where he stood, and Snape’s hands tightened a little on his shoulders where they were still holding him upright. 

“You must be entirely certain, Potter, because you needn’t to make a scene of yourself in my class again. I’m sure many years of attention are enough to satisfy even _your_ ego,” Snape whispered silkily, and Harry suddenly felt antagonism spike through him, meeting Snape’s eyes once again and glaring.  

They faced off, Snape’s hands convulsing minutely on Harry’s upper arms, his expression firm and impenetrable. Harry in turn attempted to scrutinise Snape’s motives, anger prickling under his skin and strangely enough, grounding him. He straightened and walked back as far as the cupboard would allow him, Snape’s hands finally sliding down his upper arms and dropping away. 

“Should you need to leave my class at any time, do come and _ask_ me first. And _should_ this happen again, you will go to see Madam Pomfrey, no arguments,” Snape finished, tucking his hands back into his robe and looking down his nose at Harry, a clear indication that the conversation was over. 

Harry continued staring at his professor, but his glare slid away as he did. Then he took a large, calming breath, and pushed his glasses up with his thumb and forefinger to rub at his eyes. “Sorry for disturbing your lesson, sir,” he mumbled, dropping his hands to his sides and staring forlornly at Snape’s scuffed teaching boots. Snape moved then, the scratchy fabric of his cloak brushing against Harry as he made towards the door. 

Weak daylight sluiced into the cupboard, dust particles dancing in the grey rays as Snape moved around him and held the door open, waiting for him to emerge. Harry blinked for a few seconds before stealing himself and making his way past Snape, sliding past with his back to Snape’s chest and into the quiet Defence classroom. 

The room was empty. Stools were scattered haphazardly around the room as if their occupants had left in a rush, spare quills and parchment lying abandoned on barren worktables. There was not a single student in sight. 

“Sir?” Harry turned to Snape as he shut the store cupboard with a snap and whirled around, pinning Harry with an impatient expression. “Where is everyone?” Harry finished, walking towards the man as he took a seat behind his desk, shuffling a stack of parchment with intent. 

“While you were not… with yourself, I afforded your rancorous classmates a free lesson to concentrate on revision. You are all to reread the N.E.W.T level text _Confronting the Faceless_ by our next session, where we will be engaging in a practical. Considering the… _interruptions_ we’ve experienced these past years, there are a wealth of subjects we must catch up on if any of you have even a _hope_ of meeting the required standard,” Snape finished bitterly, finding the piece of parchment he’d been seeking and standing again.  

Harry was taken aback, his mouth slack with surprise as he watched his professor make his way slowly around the desk.  

 _Did Snape cancel the lesson for me?_ _Or is this just a coincidence?_  

Surely enough as Harry turned to look, Snape’s scrawl was still printed onto the blackboard at the front of the class, outlining their lesson plan for the day. 

Before he could even think to ask, Snape abruptly grimaced in pain part way over to Harry, cupping his neck in the same way he had done on Monday night and letting a sharp breath out of his long nose. Harry rushed forward without a second thought this time, reaching out and touching the hand Snape had wrapped around his neck with feather-light, delicate fingers. He stepped closer, feeling his stomach roil at the pain etched into Snape’s face and felt a not-so-alien rush of sympathy for the man before him. 

“You talk about me seeing Pomfrey, but I don’t think you should have even left, sir,” Harry whispered, and Snape cracked one of his black eyes open to stare down at Harry once again, the continued considering look taking residence on his face, laced liberally with shock.  

“Don’t mean to assume what is good for me, Potter,” Snape snarked back in a whisper, but he didn’t attempt to move, his hand once again trembling curiously under Harry’s soft touch. 

“But you told me to –” 

“ _I am your professor_ , I am responsible for you and I have the authority to tell you what to do!” 

“It’s a bit hypocritical –”  

“ _Do NOT_ test me Potter!” Snape finally snapped loudly, stepping back and away from Harry’s touch. He swiftly thrust the parchment into Harry’s slackening hand as it fell from his face and turned his back, an irritated huff escaping him.  

Harry couldn’t help but grin slightly, folding up the parchment and slipping it into his trouser pocket. “Sorry sir… are you OK?” Harry said, unable to keep a hint of amusement from colouring his tone. 

Snape glared moodily once more at Harry, offering a sharp _yes_ before making his way back to his desk and sitting down heavily, pulling another stack of parchment toward him and seemingly becoming absorbed in his marking in a matter of ten seconds.  

Dismissed, then.  

Harry shrugged good-naturedly, making his way back to his desk and collecting his messenger bag. He then stopped on his way to the door, pivoting slowly on the spot and facing their ex-Potions Master once again. 

“Thank you,” he called over the room, causing Snape’s quill to still where he had been scribbling through a line of handwriting with vicious vigour. Snape looked up, and they were subsequently caught in another one of their stares. Harry couldn’t decipher these looks; he needed to ask Snape about it all at some point, but decided for that the time being, he would leave it be. 

Their eyes continued resting upon each other, but this time Harry didn’t feel uncomfortable. He allowed the sensation of being observed wash over him; one of the first and only times in a long while that staring hadn’t felt edged with danger and invasion. 

Then Snape inclined his head in acquiesce, flicking his writing quill back and forth between his fingers, looking for all the world like he wanted to snap back and only just resisting. Then he huffed in annoyance once again and shooed Harry with an impatient flick of his wrist. 

“Sort yourself out before you try to help other people, Potter.” Snape’s murmur carried across the room as Harry turned again to leave, and he couldn’t figure out if he was supposed to have heard it or not.  

It was terribly hypocritical either way. 

But he didn’t bother picking on it and finally left, letting the door drift shut behind him with a click of finality. 

* * *

 

Ron had accosted him as he made his way out of their Defence classroom, assaulting him with questions and concerns and altogether flapping over him like Hermione would. Harry had chased off the various concerns, assuring Ron he was OK now and that he would talk about it another time. 

This seemed to placate his friend for the time being, but Ron continued to shoot wary glances at him for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, as if they were still living under the threat of Voldemort and Harry was liable to pass out or have a fit at any second. 

Dinner was a standard affair; their allusive DADA professor was once again absent from the Great Hall and if Harry wasn’t mistaken, McGonagall looked about to hit the roof over it, glancing back to Snape’s seat every so often with an extremely cross look on her face. 

When dinner was over they dragged their sorry-selves back to Gryffindor common room stuffed with chicken pie and apple crumble, claiming their favourite chairs by the fire and settling in to play exploding snap. Ron’s concerned look had somewhat diminished in the face of their game, beyond amused that Harry was just as terrible at it as he was at wizard’s chess.  

Their classmates from Defence earlier that day didn’t seem all that surprised by the events that had unfolded, and only offered him friendly greetings when they passed. At the end of the day, Harry was _Harry,_ the _Chosen One_ who over the years had often had funny little turns in inappropriate situations. He was grateful that their collective eighth year was so understanding, even if it was made up of various returning Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins alike. 

Before long, a familiar head of bushy tawny-coloured hair appeared through the portrait hole, and Ron was up and out of his chair before Harry could blink. Harry watched with an embarrassed smile that scrunched up his nose as Ron picked Hermione up in his arms and twirled her joyously, her squealing all the way and shouting that he should _put her down now_ _!_  

Dropping her obediently, Ron leant in for a huge kiss, the sound of it carrying across the common room. A pretty blush crossed Hermione’s nose as the Gryffindors amassed in the room wolf whistled at the pair, and Ron stared down at his girlfriend in naked admiration, smoothing her frizzy hair back from her face and saying something quiet and only meant for her. 

After that moment, Hermione looked up and saw Harry, her eyes lighting up as she escaped Ron’s embrace and ran over, a blush still flushing her happy face. Harry stood just in time to receive and armful of his other best friend, her hair tickling his nose as she squeezed him enthusiastically around the middle. 

“Oh Harry! It’s so good to see you, I’ve missed you so much!” Hermione talked into his neck, her face damp where it pressed into his skin. Harry felt his chest hitch in relief; his two best friends in the whole world were finally with him, here, very much alive and breathing. He felt like he could take on anything at with them at his side, and he squeezed Hermione a little tighter as the thought crossed his mind, muttering that he had missed her too into her hair. 

Hermione reared back and framed his face with her small, feminine hands, caressing him just behind his ears and smiling. “How are you, Harry? I hope you’ve been alright, I’m so sorry we had to leave you to deal with coming back to school alone, I know how hard that was on you, I – ” 

“It’s OK Hermione, don’t worry about it, you both had important things to do. I’ve been fine,” Harry interrupted softly, catching Ron’s sceptical stare over her shoulder and giving him a _look,_ one he knew Ron would understand _._  

Ron seemed to read it loud and clear, rolling his eyes and dropping into the closest armchair. He began rearranging the abandoned game of exploding snap, waiting for Hermione to finish fussing over Harry. 

“Are you sure? I’ve been so worried… after I found my parents, it was hard… the counter spell took much longer and was a lot harder than I expected. I wanted to be back a week before this Harry, and we could have gone together,” Hermione said, her eyes upset and her hands moving from his face and running down through his fringe, trying and failing to straighten it out. 

“It’s OK, really. Ron got here Monday night so I’ve had him since then, and besides, I can look after myself.” Harry admonished softly, a smile on his face as he pulled Hermione’s hands out of his hair and held them in his own, squeezing them in encouragement. 

“I’ll believe that the next time you defeat a dark lord without us,” Hermione teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. Harry laughed low in his chest and released her hands, making to sit back in his armchair. 

“ _Hopefully_ there will never be another dark lord Hermione, but fine, you’re right, I’m _useless_ without you. Happy?”  

“Very,” Hermione agreed, laughing and perching herself on the arm of Ron’s armchair. She leant against his shoulder as one of his arms snaked across to rest innocently on her thigh, his fingers running carelessly across the material of her jeans. 

They settled in then, talking, playing games and reading by the light of the fire for the rest of the evening. Harry felt like he could have purred; he was content, warm and felt safe in their presence. They discussed the week so far, updated Hermione on the various bits of homework they had received and then frantically reassured her that even though she was late back, she would be ahead of them in no time at all. 

When it came time to update her on what he now dubbed as the _Severus Snape_ _S_ _ituation_ , they were surprised to hear that she already knew. She had owled McGonagall on her way back from Australia on Sunday evening to make the headmistress aware of her whereabouts, and by Wednesday morning Hermione had received a response, in the form of a nondescript Hogwarts owl waiting patiently for her on her parent’s kitchen table. 

McGonagall had gone to lengths to explain the situation in full as to save Hermione the shock of it on returning. Harry was a little envious that she had a heads up, but he couldn’t blame their headmistress; McGonagall had already explained how her schedule had stopped her talking to them earlier on. At least one of them had been spared the surprise. 

“Oh, I must go to see him. Maybe he’d like some help planning lessons?” Hermione suggested to them at one point, the common room now almost completely empty because of the late hour. 

“He wouldn’t take kindly to that, ‘mione. I already offered him help and he lost it.” Harry pointed out, dropping his copy of _Confronting the Faceless_ to his lap and sighing in exhaustion. He had barely made it past the third chapter. 

“When? You didn’t tell me you offered to help him,” Ron asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Harry just shrugged awkwardly, not really wanting to bring any of it up, and Ron understood the hint but took it with a little bit of bad grace as he eyed the book in Harry’s lap. 

“That why you’re reading Snape’s N.E.W.T stuff early? Trying to impress him or something?” Ron needled good-naturedly, and Harry gave him another annoyed look.  

“Does it matter?” Harry demanded, and Ron just rolled his eyes again and relented with a huff, going back to skimming over his Cannons magazine for about the fifth time that week. 

“What?! You didn’t tell me we were supposed to be reading something for Snape!” Hermione accused suddenly, jumping up from where she had migrated to the floor between Ron’s legs at some time during their evening. She walked over to Harry and sat on the arm of his chair, plucking the book from his lap and turning it over in her hands, observing it cover to cover. 

“Oh yeah, sorry I forgot,” Harry admitted and Hermione glared down at him, looking stricken at the idea that she might have been behind on something. Harry shoved his hand into his pocket before pulling out the parchment Snape had given him earlier. 

“Here, I think he wrote it down. I haven’t checked yet.” Harry offered, handing Hermione the screwed up parchment. She looked affronted as she picked apart the folds, probably horrified that Harry treated instructions vital to their learning in such a callous way. 

“Oh, there’s one here for me! Here’s yours Harry,” she asserted, handing him back his book and a single piece of parchment, wandering away with one of her own. Her eyes had already started zipping across the page as she walked, taking the words in. Harry looked down at Snape’s easily identifiable scrawl and noticed that the sheet Hermione had given him had his name at the top, alongside the sentence _E_ _ighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts: critical areas of study._  

As Harry read, he recognised that every subject on the page was an area he had not touched on yet, or was seriously behind in because of the war. They were listed in category of difficulty and in what order they should be learned, while also mentioning the books required or practical means to learn about them alongside. 

Snape had taken the time to personally outline what each student in his eighth year class needed to relearn, brush up on or learn from scratch to pass their delayed N.E.W.Ts. By the look of it, he had tailored each of their requirements to the individual, instead of blanket instruction to suit all. Harry stilled in his chair, his fingers running along the crinkled edge of the parchment in wonder; this would have taken Snape a very long time.  

Snape had obviously given Harry Hermione’s guidelines in hope that Harry would pass them on when she finally arrived at the school. Harry scrutinised the first line of the page, holding the parchment closer to his nose to get a clearer look at Snape’s handwriting: 

 _Before moving onto a more personal area of study, all are required to read_ _Confronting the Faceless_ _. As a N.E.W.T level Defence Against the Dark Arts text, I expect every last student to know its contents back to front by the time we are prepared to address your shortcomings in my subject._ _To recap, you may also reread_ _The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts_ _, but this is not_ _prerequisite, as this text is under your level of study._  

Harry’s eyes then wandered further down the list, taking in the various things Snape had decided that he needed to learn to pass his N.E.W.T. The sentence _Combatting_ _Inferius_ leapt out at him, and he couldn’t help a small, sarcastic laugh; he had never learnt about defending himself against Inferius in theory in Defence, because he actually fought them in real life and almost died before he had a chance to.  

If that was not a sad state of affairs, he didn’t know what was. 

Harry lowered the parchment to his lap and sighed dramatically; Hermione was already perched at the coffee table, furiously scribbling notes into a tattered old organiser, probably setting herself a reading/homework plan for the entire year, or something else entirely over the top. Ron had apparently begun to drift off, the Cannons magazine slipping slowly out of his hands and his head bowed, his chin gently coming to rest on his chest as he let out a loud snore. 

At that, Harry decided to go to bed. He bid goodnight to his friends, Hermione echoing the sentiment and Ron grunting something unintelligible, and he packed up his things and made his way up the spiralling staircase to their dormitory. 

On autopilot, he abruptly had to stop himself opening the wrong door on his way up; to accommodate the new eighth years, Hogwarts had automatically added extra rooms into all of their common rooms. As such, there was one more floor than usual, and Harry and his old roommates were situated on the newest level the top of the tower. It took some getting used of, and Harry made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he took the last few steps up to their dorm. 

Pushing his way in and shutting the door with a soft thud, Harry leaned back against it and took a breath. Mere minutes earlier he had been content in the presence of his friends, but as soon as he was alone, he felt a pressing feeling settle on his chest like a vice; not a vicious and overwhelming sensation, but just enough to cause Harry to focus on the discomfort and dwell on it. 

He tried to shake the feeling by busying himself for bed, and by the time the curtains were drawn and his quilt was pulled securely up to his chin, the same restless feeling he'd been experiencing all week at night took hold, and he shifted his legs uncomfortably against the horrid sensation. 

Harry was at his wits end. Between worrying about Snape, facing the realties of his new, threat-free existence and adjusting to being back at Hogwarts after the war, he felt like his mind should have no reason or time to act the way it was. But he supposed years of neglecting his mental state (and not to mention Voldemort's soul taking residence up there) would catch up with him eventually. 

He'd see Pomfrey about it. In time. 

His thoughts suddenly brought him back to Snape and their interesting, albeit a little unsettling, staring matches. Harry rebuilt the scene in his mind from earlier today; Snape with his quill resting limply in his long, slender hand, his eyes meeting Harry's across the classroom and boring into them, the stare completely indistinguishable and full of possibility.  

 _What does he want? Why does he keep doing that to me?_ Harry thought desperately, fighting another unusual urge to seek his professor out once again and demand to know why, if only to placate his reeling thoughts. 

 _And why not...?_ His mind reasoned. Harry scrunched his brow at that, considering it as he shifted into a more comfortable position in the bed. He reminded himself of the first time, of Snape's anger and of the man lying on the floor, barely comprehending in the wake of his fall... 

 _But that won't happen this time. This time it'll be different. This time I won't piss him off..._  

Harry blinked at that. Did he really want to seek Snape out again so soon? And for what? 

 _To ask him why. To convince him to except my help. To talk like we never got the chance to._ Harry sighed at the thought, all too aware that we was only trying to convince himself so he could get out of this room and away from the confines of his bed. 

 _And to ask Snape why,_ his brain parried. At that, he made up his mind. He stared at the canvas over his head for close to thirty seconds, before huffing and pulling the blankets back in abject defeat. He stepped smartly out of bed, ignoring any part of him that wanted to reason with his decision any further. He'd always got by reacting on impulse, why stop now? 

This time, he rooted around for his cloak and pulled it free from his messenger bag, shaking it out and dropping it neatly over his head. He wanted to be able to pass Ron and Hermione without incident; he didn't want them to worry over him. 

He pulled the curtains around his bed shut and hoped Ron wouldn't have the sense to peek, and then as an afterthought, pulled his Marauders Map from his bag in case Snape wasn't in his quarters. He slipped his feet into his worn trainers and then set off out of the room and back down the stairs at a brisk walk, already feeling more upbeat in anticipation for the journey ahead. 

He needn't have even used the cloak. When Harry arrived in the common room, he was welcomed by the sight of Ron and Hermione alone and entwined in each other; Hermione sat astride Ron's lap with his arms pulled tight around her waist, their eyes closed and kissing like they intended to steal the oxygen from each others lungs. 

Harry pulled a bit of a face at that, and continued quickly but quietly past his enamoured best friends until he reached the portrait hole, slinking out as silently as he could. He doubted they'd have even noticed if a herd of hippogriffs had charged though the room in that moment, but it was better safe than sorry in Harry's opinion. 

As soon as he stepped out of their common room and into a quiet, dark alcove nearby, Harry pulled the Marauders Map from his pocket and whispered the usual incantation to get it to open. Belatedly, he wondered why he hadn't worn his hoodie out tonight and shivered as he pursued the map with a calloused finger, looking for that all too familiar name and glaring a little when he found that more of a challenge than he anticipated. 

Finally, _Severus Snape_ was hovering in the library, and Harry wondered if he was even surprised. Bracing himself by pulling in a huge, steadying breath, Harry made his feet move in the direction of the third floor. 

Harry silently promised himself as he made his way down a hidden flight of stairs behind a tapestry that tonight, he would _finally_ convince his professor to accept his help. 

The man deserved as much, and asking one more time couldn't hurt, could it? 

 _And I'll find out_ _why_ _he's_ _been looking at_ _me_  

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Penance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeey, so you know how I said that the next chapter wouldn't be long away? I lied a bit. I'm sorry - I got distracted by good fanfic and got... carried away instead of writing THIS. So uh, I had half of this finished for a while after chapter three, just sitting there waiting for me to round it all off... but HURRAH! I finished it! Again, a little shorter than the first two chapters, but I suppose that I'd rather the content to be natural than long and forced, and I write better in bursts of inspiration, sooooo...
> 
> Just a fair warning: I don't really have a consistent posting regime because I'm procrastination personified. So I'm sorry if this messes with your enjoyment of the fic!
> 
> ANYWAY - I hope you like! FLUFF AHOY! (PS; Edited by ME, late at night. Apologies if it's error-riddled...)

 

* * *

 

It was easier than it should have been, but wasn’t Harry’s life always full of unexpected surprises?

The library was cool and dark; the moon and stars usually visible through the tall windows were blanketed in night time cloud, giving the darkness there an unusual sort of _depth._ Harry approached the only light source in the room quietly, his footfalls soft over worn flagstones as his invisibility cloak fluttered delicately at his heels. He would have felt trepidation, but he felt nothing but slowly simmering, unfathomable _excitement_ unfurling in his chest _._

He was there. With his back facing Harry, a single candle standing in the middle of the heavy set, oaken table he currently sat at. His shoulders were hunched, tension evident in every line of his posture as he appeared to peruse a hefty, ancient looking tome.

Severus Snape muttered something lowly in his throat, agitatedly flipping the book closed with a muffled bang. He hunched even further over the table, the line of his shoulders betraying a fine tremor.

And Harry could think of no other reason to stall any further.

He approached with a misplaced sort of confidence, stopping just to the side of his professor’s chair and gently pulling the invisibility cloak off his head. The rustle as it slid away was nothing but a soft sigh amidst the cavernous library. But it was enough.

Snape didn’t startle. He slowly turned to look at Harry, his face a deceptive, impenetrable mask as he stared back into a pair of green eyes shining in anticipation.

Harry couldn’t help but marvel over it for a moment; _there’s no wonder this man fooled Voldemort himself._

Then the expression split. The ex-Potions Master let out a huge, exasperated huff of air, his rigid posture melting and his eyes becoming irritated. He turned fully, regarding Harry’s floating head with the sort of disdain he only ever imparted when he decided someone was being particularly stupid.

“You never fail to amaze me, Potter…” Snape trailed off, his irritation growing when Harry smirked down at him benignly, pulling a chair out from the table next to the man with a squeak and sitting down with little grace, the invisibility cloak shrugging off his shoulders as he did.

“Why, _sir,_ I’m flattered,” Harry gushed good-naturedly, not above needling his professor a bit as his sudden good mood settled warmly under his sternum. Snape looked nothing short of appalled.

“That was by no means a compliment, you ceaseless idiot,” he snapped back, but as he said it, something took the wind of his sails and he very suddenly looked exhausted, eyes depthless in his face. He drew into himself then, and looked back down at the cover of the book in front of him.

“You are out past curfew. To bed with you,” Snape droned, flat and resigned. The sound of it made Harry feel a coldness that had nothing to do with the chilled air of the library.

So he refused, shaking his head doggedly at Snape. _Something_ reignited in his professor’s face as he looked back in Harry’s direction, another twitch of irritation creating a cleft between his brows.

Harry couldn’t help but feel smug, if not a little in awe at himself for his refusal.

“No. I think I’ll stay right here.” Harry taunted, his eyes intent and glittering like emeralds in the candlelight. His tone dared his professor to hold his gaze. But Snape dropped it again, a weariness visibly crawling through his frame and settling on his tired-looking face. He sighed.

“ _Why_ are you here, Potter? Ten points from—”

Snape stuttered to a stop and gasped. It was loud in the quiet library and Harry felt Snape’s quick, shocked exhale against his face as he inched closer without consciously deciding to.

It was rash, admittedly. But Harry hadn’t been able to stand the hollow look on his face and did the first thing he’d thought of; their hands were interwoven on the table top, and Snape’s obsidian irises widened, betraying his surprise. Harry ran his thumb along the back of his professor’s hand carefully, and their eyes met again.

He couldn’t seem to stop himself touching the man, and Snape never seemed to stop being caught unaware by the whole routine. And so they were again trapped in another one of their peculiar stares. Black and green, dancing indefinably in the low light but simmering with some sort of implication. Harry felt Snape’s hand convulse like as if he couldn’t decide whether to snatch the appendage away or hold on tighter.

Harry couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he was… curious, for reasons he couldn’t understand. He leant in a little closer again, and Snape’s eyes seemed to stretch wider. Then he let himself look down to the older man’s lips; they were pulled thin and tight against the sharp features of his face.

_Nervous. He’s nervous._

Harry felt himself considering _something_ , long dormant butterflies fluttering weakly in his stomach, but he couldn’t follow his own rationale and frowned at the feeling, before meeting his professor’s gaze once more. It all only lasted for a second, but Snape noticed it nonetheless. His lips separated on a shaky exhale, seeming utterly entranced…

Only for the man to rip his hand away, and run (or walk away _very_ quickly, with as much dignity as he could muster when blatantly fleeing).

Harry gaped, his hand hovering over the table where Snape’s had been, the candle guttering weakly in the man’s wake. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click and then scrambled from the chair, almost tipping it back in his haste.

He couldn’t just let him _run away_. Not after everything, and if it was Harry’s fault the man had fled, then he needed to fix it. Turning around, he gathered up his cloak and then set off at a jog out of the library. Skidding over the threshold, Harry whipped his head back and forth in quick succession, blowing out a frustrated huff when he failed to spot his professor.

“Professor Snape…?” Harry called, heedless of the late hour. Striding down the hall, he was just about to turn in the direction of the staircase to check the dungeons, in case Snape had gone back there, when he remembered…

He possessed a magical map that would tell him _exactly_ where the man had gone. Rolling his eyes at himself, he dragged the parchment out of his pocket and murmured the incantation, immediately perusing the yellowed surface until he saw him for the second time that night.

 _Severus Snape_ was moving rapidly in the direction of the Astronomy Tower, and Harry suddenly felt as though a stone had dropped into his stomach, rooting him to the spot and making nausea curl up his spine.

Things had to be bad if Snape was seeking solace in a place where he had committed murder.

Swallowing and bolstering up some of his famed Gryffindor bravery, Harry turned in the direction of the Astronomy Tower and walked, willing the anxiety spider-crawling over his skin into submission.

 

* * *

 

_The boy was a problem._

_A huge, ridiculous, insufferable, infuriating problem._

Snape mused as sharp, icy wind struck him on opening the door atop the tower, tearing an unhappy groan from the ex-Death Eater and throwing his lank hair behind his head in a twisted, black halo.

Cringing and raising his wand, he raised a shield charm between himself and the gale, while also warming himself with a quick heating charm. He stepped fully onto the deck of the tower then, the wind no longer an issue, and pressed his back up against Hogwarts’ stone façade, folding himself into the shadows.

_I’d like to see Potter come sniffing up here, he’ll never think to –_

Snape stopped the thought before it grew to full fruition, grimacing in distaste and rolling his shoulders against the wall.

 _How preposterously immature_ _of me, hiding from the boy…_

He huffed and hung his head dejectedly, his hair hanging to obscure his face in a way that was decidedly defensive, a placating tactic he had always used as a child.

_How fitting._

Things hadn’t been the same since he had almost died. Severus Snape was not _meant_ to survive. He’d had it all planned out; he would perish, in one way or another, and take his bad decisions and disastrous life to the grave with him. He would fulfil his purpose, and be left to rest and leave a life that had consisted of burden upon burden, hatred, deceit and manipulation. 

Of course, things didn’t work out as expected when Harry Potter was involved.

Snape titled his head back then and looked at the sky. It was black and heavy like a sucking, empty void, holding none of its usual celestial splendour.

_Waxing poetic over the sky. What have you become, Severus Tobias Snape?_

He snorted disdainfully into the silence, but found he couldn’t help but wonder if the skies tonight were an apt reflection of his life now; devoid of substance, empty of purpose. He was a used up, useless old man now, an ex-Death Eater that people would never grow to abide by.

 _Not that I_ ever _cared who liked me. Merlin, when did I become so bloody maudlin?_

In that moment, Snape decided that he was being foolish, hiding up here, of all places, where he had murdered his mentor and desecrated his name beyond repair. He looked beyond the railings, his stomach roiling sickly at the drop, his mind’s eye flashing with images of a man falling backwards, his arms spreading wide in acceptance of his fate…

Then a large _BANG_ shattered the moment, and Snape felt his heart jump into his throat as he whipped around to the source of the noise, wand instantly poised and panic lancing through every fibre of his being. Not that it showed on his face for even a second.

Harry Potter stumbled out of the doorway, looking horrified at himself. He then looked up at Snape, and his expression paled, mouth opening and closing uselessly on vacant words before he seemed to gather himself and began approaching rapidly.

“The door stuck, I didn’t know it would… well, I didn’t think it was going to be _that_ loud,” he exclaimed, stopping a few steps before Snape. “Are you OK? I thought I’d come and… well, check.” he finished, looking hopeful as he took another step forward.

And Snape stared. Potter looked out of breath; he was being battered by the harsh winds and wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, bracing against the cold and looking expectantly up at his professor.  

Before Snape could even think, anger, welcome and familiar for this _boy_ in particular, began to boil low in his stomach, and he knew the wrath of it must have darkened his face because the boy recoiled then, taking an awkward step backward.

 _“FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR FOR UTTER INCOMPETENCE AND BLATANT DISREGARD FOR SCHOOL RULES!”_ the loud, incensed shout tore from Snape’s lungs, the heady rush of rage making him feel more alive than he had in _weeks._

Potter looked horrified. He began retreating quickly, a hand held up in an attempt to placate and as a shiver visibly rocked its way through his scrawny frame. In fear or because of the cold, Snape couldn’t tell.

“That’s a bit unfair, it’s it?!” the boy had the _gall_ to say, his voice higher pitched than usual and his bright, green eyes betraying his panic.

Snape couldn’t help but marvel over that for a moment; _how had this boy ever fooled the Dark Lord?_

“ _A bit unfair? How dare you—”_

“Snape – I mean, Professor Snape – I didn’t mean to piss you off… er…” Potter ended feebly, his back now pressed up against the door, his one hand slowly reaching around his back as if to grab for the handle.

Snape tutted patronisingly, the sound lost in the roar of the wind as he approached his student rapidly, the boy’s eyes tracing his journey with shining trepidation.

Potter managed to get hold of the handle then, and he made to turn around to pull it open…

_Can’t have that now, can we? How the tables have turned…_

So Snape took a final fluid couple of steps into the boy’s space and gripped the front of his pyjama top, pulling him to the side and then pushing him back into the wall, rushing towards until they were almost nose to nose.

“You’re _not_ to leave until I have _finished speaking,_ Potter!”

His student was frozen against the wall for a number of seconds, glancing down to Snape’s hands over his chest and then back up into his black, furious gaze. Snape watched his throat bob on a visible, nervous swallow.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to make everything worse, I just wanted to check if you were OK after you… well – ack!” Potter exclaimed suddenly, his eyes widening as Snape closed in further again, their eyes level as he stooped slightly to meet the boy’s height. He bunched the thin material of the pyjamas in his hands into his fists, and glared for all his worth into the boy’s startling green eyes, their depths both comfort and pain to Snape, the memory of them bitter and happy and everything complicated that he didn’t care to be reminded of.

“You have pried where you _do not belong,_ you have broken curfew, you have broken several school rules and you have _dearly tried my patience,_ Potter. I’ve half a mind to take _another_ fifty points from you for sheer, wilful arrogance! In fact, a month’s worth of detention wouldn’t go amiss either!” Snape growled, his voice low and threatening in the space between them.

The DADA professor _felt_ the boy take a shaky breath with the way they were pressed together, but instead of regret or even a fleck of _remorse_ blossoming in his fathomless eyes, they steeled and became resolute, his brow crinkling with surety.

“So do it. Put me in detention. I don’t care, as long as I get to help you.”

For a moment, Snape was lost for words. He continued to glare into those haunting eyes, feeling his lip curl at the utter _stubbornness_ the boy exuded; ever his father’s son. Harry stared defiantly back, inching closer to his professor in the already limited space between them. A slim-fingered hand rose to grip one of Snape’s wrists where it tangled into his t-shirt.

“Because all I’ve ever done is _take_ from you – you sacrificed so much for me, all you need to do is give me the chance to _help you._ Whatever you need. Everyone I knew – so many people I cared about are _gone._ You need help, you’re _still here,_ and I can give it to you… it’s simple…”

“It is NOT _simple,_ boy…” Snape sneered, refusing to be coerced into this, refusing to be made a fool by the spawn of James Potter.

_I owe Harry Potter nothing._

The only thing he wished of his student in return for his sacrifice was to be left _well alone_.

Those green, green eyes seemed to fracture a little, insecurity seeping through in an almost imperceptible dip of dark lashes. Snape knew these eyes ( _her eyes_ ). Knew their tells. He had studied them for years. He _missed_ reading them like this; as much as he was loathe to admit it to himself.

It provoked weakness in him, and even as he tried to stomp it away, the more he stared into those beautiful, disheartened eyes, the more his own vulnerabilities showed through the cracks in his perfectly constructed visage.

The hand around his wrist was caressing him again. Potter never ceased _petting_ him _..._ it made his practiced control waver like nothing ever could; not torture nor threat of death. Voldemort had known of his Achilles heel, his weakness for... affection, for _Lily._ It was the only time Snape was sure the Dark Lord had ever bettered him in their game of deception.

“Potter…” the Defence professor murmured then, quieter, more insecure. This seemed to ignite something in Potter’s face, and his other hand came up to grip Snape’s shoulder.

“Professor. Let me help. I need this just as much as you do…” the boy admitted quietly, his eyes piercing now, a sea of green _hope._

_“You mean to assume what I need—”_

_“No!_ No, Snape… I… will you just give this a chance?” that hand began to smooth up his shoulder, settling lightly on the high neck of his tunic, the edge of ragged bandages peeking out over the top of the black material.  At this, Snape felt his breath rush out through his nose unsteadily, relishing the touch. His dark, steely eyes closed and he allowed himself just to _feel._

People rarely touched him. Rarely ever had. Lily was the last person to be so free with her touches in this way…

It was in that moment that Snape found a jarring, not entirely uncomfortable comparison between mother and child arise to confront him; he had spent most of his life comparing the boy to his father, but in fact, Lily seeped out of his every pore…

Snape sighed; he had never liked to say _no_ to his best friend, no matter how damaged and splintered their relationship became over the years, and somehow, in this moment, her son was afforded the same privilege. He opened his black eyes and met the familiar green once again; Harry was there, short and pyjama-clad, his black hair in disarray. The boy seemed to startle as their eyes met, a faint blush colouring his cheeks and a swallow bobbing his Adam’s apple.

_How curious our situation is becoming…_

“You may _assist me_ with day-to-day tasks every Tuesday and Thursday evening for the next month. Consider it detention for the utter incompetence and thoughtless disregard you’ve shown tonight…”  Snape trailed off with a growled threat, making an effort to salvage some of his tattered dignity as he shamefully _gave in_ to Harry, gave in to the weakness that had permeated his entire life.

And Harry Potter quite suddenly enveloped him in a hug in response; arms thrown unceremoniously around his waist and a scruffy head tucked under his chin. Snape could _feel_ the contentment and relief rolling off the boy in waves, and found himself sliding his own arms carefully around his student’s slight shoulders, trying not to give the want to do so too much thought as he shifted to press against the smaller body in front of him.

 _“Thank you,_ ” was murmured against the material of his cloak, and the professor took in a large, grounding breath, steadying the emotion and vulnerability that poured through his soul like a deluge. He allowed himself another moment to relish the contact of another living person, before he lightly pushed the young man away by his upper arms.

“Now, it _is_ time you headed back to your dormitory, Potter. You’ve got away with tonight by the skin of your teeth…”

Potter snorted at this, happiness with a hint of wickedness sliding onto his face. Snape dropped his hold on the boy agitatedly and straightened to his full, imposing height. 

“I assure you I am capable of doling out _indefinitely worse_ punishment to wayward students such as yourself. _Count yourself lucky that I’m feeling... merciful.”_

“Sir, _I know._ I’ve been at the receiving end for long enough,” Harry piped up enthusiastically, missing how Snape’s eye twitched in irritation as he turned once again to the door leading back into the castle.

“Are you coming, professor?” his student asked as he entered through the doorway, holding the door aloft and gazing over his shoulder. Where he stood, away from Snape’s shield charm, the wind battered the boy; a tremble wracked his shoulders as he looked expectantly at his teacher.

Without response and only a small, unsettling glare, the ex-Death Eater followed him out of the door. It shut with a resounding thud against the wind and cold of the outside world, enclosing them together in the dark, circular room at the top of the tower.

“Sir.. why did you come here?” Potter asked then, his voice lilting with wonder and a hint of sadness.

“None of your business; you would do w _ell_ not to pry,” Snape fired back, a seething, threatening sort of irritation tainting his words. As an afterthought, he flicked his wand in a quick _Colloportus_ at the door, the click as it locked echoing dully around the room.

Potter shook again as he turned fully to look at Snape in the gloom; he looked utterly pathetic. Unbidden and unwelcome, the image brought forth a memory; a cold winter’s day, a short red-head shivering by his side, his single-minded impulse to help by dropping his charm-warmed cloak around her shoulders…

Before he had time to address his delusions, Snape strode forward without thought, expertly unbuckling the clasp at his neck and shrugging the heavy, winter cloak off with practiced ease. He approached and Potter’s eyes widened with anticipatory surprise, gleaming with curiosity…

Snape draped the cloak elegantly around the boy and it swathed him in folds of black too big for his height and frame; he looked utterly ridiculous and the DADA professor couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, even as his mind screamed at him for his weakness, his reckless compulsion.

Harry’s eyes were wide with unadulterated confusion and pleasure. He looked down at himself, fascination written into his face, before he pulled the cloak more securely around himself and smiled a smile that would have blotted out the sun itself with its brightness.

“Sir… I – thank you...” Potter seemed to gravitate towards him, and the smirk slipped off Snape’s face as the full realisation of what he’d done sunk in.

_Useless, cursed sentimentality…_

“It’d serve you well to actually _learn_ how to perform a simple warming charm, Potter. Once again, I must make concessions for you, and it is an utter waste of my time. Now do _come along,_ ” Snape snapped cruelly, but the effect was lost on his student; Potter happily skipped after him as he made his way down onto the spiral staircase, the boy following with an irritating bounce in his step.

Snape ground his teeth together in frustration, picking up the pace a little in a bid to put some much-needed distance between him and the source of his nightmares.

The walk from the top of the tower and back down into the castle was a long one; his student followed at heel all the way, and after a while he forgot that the boy was trailing after him and he became lost to thought.

What an utter _mess_ he found himself in. He had denied Potter for days, and despite the bizarre impulse he found himself experiencing to seek out the boy with his eyes ( _which needed to be explored further,_ he told himself begrudgingly), he had done a marvellous job at pushing his student away.

 _He didn’t need this_. Prolonged contact with Potter always brought out the very _worst_ in him; not that he was entirely pleasant a man in the first place, but Harry Potter always managed to push him over the edge of what one would consider _socially_ _acceptable_.

They’d have their detentions. He’d put the boy to good use; wear him down with strenuous, repetitive tasks. Then this odd… _fascination_ Potter had with his wellbeing would wither; his misguided hero complex would dry out like a well in the mid-summer sun; he’d take his concerns elsewhere, to more deserving recipients…

Snape found himself in front of the concealed door to his quarters. Blinking away lingering thoughts, he turned to find Potter had followed him all the way down to the dungeons from the Astronomy Tower. He was still swaddled in Snape’s black cloak, hugging it around himself contentedly and staring up at his professor with that same bewildered, marvelled expression.

“ _WHY_ are you still here?!” Snape snapped, rounding fully on the young man and corralling him backwards, his irritation written plain in his furrowed brows and twisted sneer.

“You didn’t send me away, sir…” Potter trailed off, cheekiness lighting his eyes. He didn’t move an inch as Snape stepped intimidatingly into his space, his face lighting brighter as his professor came closer.

This tactic was obviously _wasted_ on Potter; it _pleased him._ Most students were horrified to be this near to Professor Snape.

It again made him falter; he could never maintain a proper composure around the boy, and now wasn’t an exception; he defied expectation. He sighed hugely and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger in exasperation.

“Just _go to bed,_ for Merlin’s sake Potter, _before_ I deduct more points from you wretched house…”

“You’re alright though?” Potter asked then, stepping in a little closer, again having no regard for his professor’s sanity.

“ _Yes –_ move, Potter!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” the young, tousled-haired man exclaimed happily then, giving the ex-Death Eater a small, muted smile before turning and striding away, the shadows of the dark dungeon corridor rushing in to disguise him as he walked.

“Goodnight, professor,” was called back from out of the darkness, and Snape found himself staring at where Potter had vanished, bewildered and oddly bereft as he stood alone… _without his cloak._

The growl of frustration as it tore from his throat was nowhere near as menacing as it could have been, in light of everything. Snape turned in a flare of black robes and touched a light finger to the wall, and the bricks slithered away with a quiet rumble as they revealed his front door.

He would have to face the bane of his existence _again_ tomorrow, and the man decided he’d need at least a few tumblers of Firewhiskey and a full, undisturbed night’s sleep to even _consider_ stepping out of his bedroom in the morning to tackle the day.

_What am I going to do with you, Potter?_

The ex-Death Eater reached up to his neck tentatively as he strode through the front door, softly placing his hand to the place where the boy’s had touched him not ten minutes ago; his fingers lingering and his eyelids lowering to half mast in private satisfaction.  
  
_What am I going to do…  
_

 

* * *

 

**TBC**


End file.
